


Flying Change

by Magnolia822



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Magic, Sex Magic, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living the life of a bachelor on his country estate in Oxfordshire, Arthur Pendragon hasn’t been much of a father ever since his ex-wife took their son to start a new life in America. Seven years later, when Mithian makes plans to remarry and sends Mordred to live with Arthur for the summer, he’s in for a crash-course in parenting. Literally. Mordred is no ordinary thirteen year old—he can set things on fire with the blink of an eye. And he absolutely hates Arthur. </p><p>Merlin Emrys teaches at the Edinburgh Academy for Magical Students; he loves his job and respects his mentor and headmaster, Gaius. So when the latter asks him to tutor Mordred as a personal favour, he can’t refuse, even though he’d rather sleep on hot coals than spend three months in the country with some stuffy old aristocrat and his spoiled brat of a son. </p><p>After a few false starts, Arthur and Merlin find common ground in their exasperation, affection, and concern for Mordred, and their mutual attraction quickly blossoms . . . but an unforeseen event threatens their fragile happiness before the summer ends.</p><p>Written for 2013 Paperlegends with art by Alby_Mangroves. Art Masterpost <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/911884">HERE</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t have written this without the help of many people. A thousand thank-yous to [Nu_breed](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed) and SillyGoose for their diligent and tireless beta work; to [sapphirescribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/pseuds/sapphirescribe) for pre-reading and support; and to Emmy for her Brit-picking and enthusiasm. Of course THANK YOU doesn’t even begin to cover what I owe [Alby_Mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Alby_Mangroves/pseuds/Alby_Mangroves) for creating such wonderful art to go with my story. Every piece you do just gets better and better, bb; you take my breath away. When I think about all of the things you've done in this fandom, and for me, I get a little teary, negl. I hope you realize how special your talent is. ILY! 
> 
> Amphigoury, your additions to that last piece were amazing, so let me love you as well! Last, but certainly not least, thank you the_muppet for putting together this amazing fest, yet again, and being such an awesome mod. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Neither of us own any of these characters, nor do we accrue any profit from this fanwork.

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/FlyingChangeCover_zps3a8c0bbb.jpg.html)

  
**Flying Change** : (noun) a movement in riding in which the leading leg at the canter is changed without breaking gait while the horse is in the air. (Oxford Dictionary)

***

Even though he’d lived alone in the house for years, sometimes he still woke up feeling out of place, like a child startled awake after dozing in strange surroundings. It wasn’t that the manor was unfamiliar; it was in his blood, after all, and had been for generations. Perhaps out of time was a more apt description. He almost expected his father to be seated at the table in the breakfast room, glaring over the financial section of the _Times_ , or sitting in one of the fine leather chairs in the library with cigar and whisky tumbler in hand. On such mornings the same furniture would greet him, empty, and surprise him with being so. Like the desk he sat at now in his study, his father’s and his father’s before him, on and on into history, and Arthur himself a mere blip in the grand scheme of the Pendragon dynasty.

It was always like this after a visit to London, Arthur mused, chastising himself for his maudlin thoughts. Whenever he was away he longed for nothing but home, but as soon as he returned, he could hardly wait to leave again. He stood and paced to the window that looked out over the green acreage towards the stables. A ride would be just the thing, but first there were emails and accounts to settle. He sighed and, with one last look, returned to his desk to open his laptop. 

An hour later his mobile buzzed against the mahogany wood. 

“Hello Arthur, are you there? To hell with this bloody phone. Hello?” 

“Hello, Mithian.” Arthur strained to hear through the traffic breaking up the connection. “Isn’t it illegal to speak on your mobile while you’re driving?” 

“Sorry, Arthur, sorry. Just a moment. Well bloody well go around me, then!” He could almost picture her offering choice hand gestures to the other driver. “Sorry. Listen, I got your message but I don’t have much time to talk; I’ve just got out of a late concert.”

Arthur cleared his throat. The time difference was always an issue in their communications. “Yes, well. I wanted to discuss the terms of Mordred’s trust with you; I’ve revised it to give him his first sum at eighteen for university. He’ll still get the balance at twenty-five as we discussed, and then of course when I die, the whole lot.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderfully generous, darling, thank you. And while we’re at it, I have some exciting news. Geoff has asked me to marry him.” 

“I see. Congratulations to you both.” He leaned back in his chair. “When’s the happy day?” 

“At the end of next month, actually. June thirtieth.” 

“So soon?” 

“Well, we don’t really see the need to wait. It’s not the first time for either of us and neither of us is getting any younger. I want to have another child before my ovaries shrivel up and drop out of my old, desiccated body.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Thirty-four is hardly ancient. I’m sure your ovaries have a few good years left.” And they were quite fertile. It had only taken one round of unprotected sex back at uni to produce Mordred, after all. 

“That’s easy enough for you to say; men just get better looking with age, and you can father babies until you’re ninety.” 

Arthur snorted. “An abhorrent thought. What does Mamá say?” 

“She thinks he’s a fortune hunter.” 

“Is he?”

“Of course, who isn’t? Anyway, it hardly matters. I love Geoff and it’s all settled.” 

“Splendid, so where do I fit in? You can’t want me to give you away.” He could imagine the headlines now. 

“No, not a bit!” She laughed. “I’d like you to take Mordred for the summer, would you?”

Arthur straightened up. “You want to send him here?” 

“Yes, just to give Geoff and I some time to settle in together. Mordred hasn’t taken the news well and . . . to be frank I think he could use some fatherly influence.”

“Are you sure he wants my influence?” Arthur tried to keep his tone even. He’d been toying with the idea of asking Mordred to come for a couple of weeks so he could teach him about the family finances, but Mordred for the whole summer, without Mithian? The last time they’d spoken he got the feeling his son and Geoff didn’t exactly get on, but then again Mordred hadn’t said much—he never did. Talking with him was increasingly like trying to draw water from a dry well, all one-word answers and bored indifference.

“Please. He’s your son, too.” 

Arthur bit back the retort on his tongue; it was so like Mithian to play the _your son_ card when it was convenient. He could already hear the triumph in her voice. “When do you want to bring him?” 

“In a couple of weeks, once school is out. Oh, Arthur, thank you.” 

“Does he know of your evil plan?” 

“I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to check with you first to make sure it would be all right, but I know he’ll be just thrilled.” 

This time Arthur didn’t try to rein in the sarcasm. “I’m sure. Which is why he hasn’t wanted to visit for almost two years.” 

“Oh, don’t start now—you know how hard it’s been for me with the orchestra. And you know you can always come here if you like.” 

Arthur had a lot more in his arsenal ready for deployment. Every time he visited Los Angeles, Mithian made his life difficult. She refused to take Mordred out of school or interfere with any of his activities; most of the time Arthur was left waiting for a two-hour window in which to see his son. Not to mention he hated the traffic and congestion of the city—it held no charm for him, being nothing but strip-malls for miles. Yet in spite of these very rational, very sound reasons, guilt wormed its way into his gut and made him uncomfortable. He was about to issue a weak objection when Mithian spoke again. 

“There’s something else, Arthur.” Her voice grew quiet. “He’s been getting in trouble at school. Quite a bit, recently.”

“What kind of trouble?” Even as he asked, he already knew. 

“His magic.” She was a mere whisper now. “His power is getting stronger and I think . . . the other children don’t understand. He’s teased and he lashes out. I’ve tried to talk to him, but I’m at my wits end. He set Geoff’s car on fire.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “He what?” 

“It was an accident! He didn’t know what he was doing. He just gets so angry sometimes, he thinks something and it happens. I . . . I think maybe it was wrong of me to take him to America. There are so few of his kind here.” 

Arthur rubbed his temple to soothe the beginnings of a tension headache. 

“Arthur?” 

“I’m just trying to process all of this.” They had first noticed signs of magic when Mordred was a baby, but it was impossible to tell how it would manifest until he got older. Arthur had hoped for his son’s sake it would never be an issue—that Mordred would be only mildly telekinetic, as Arthur’s own mother had been. Even though the doctors had warned that puberty would bring an increased incidence in what they termed ‘wild magic’, he hadn’t expected it so soon. Then again, Mordred was already thirteen. 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“I didn’t want to worry you.” 

“Well, it’s a little late for that.” 

“We’ll talk more when we get there, all right? I’ll go ahead and book the flights this afternoon.” 

After they hung up, the enticement of a ride grew too tempting to ignore. Arthur changed into his breeches and strode out over rolling green lawn that led away from the house to the lake and stables below. The pleasant smell of freshly cut grass filled the air but did little to lift his mood. Setting things on fire with just a thought? Arthur shuddered in spite of the sun warming his back. 

Percival and Kara were preparing the lower flowerbeds near the lake for the summer visitors. When they saw him, they stopped their work and waved. Arthur hesitated before he approached. 

“Going for a ride, your lordship?” Percival wiped his hands on his overalls. His large biceps flexed with the movement. “It’s a nice day for it.” 

“It is, yes.” 

Kara beamed up at him. “I’ve been to see Cally every day you’ve been gone, M’lord. Made sure he had plenty of carrots and apples. And sugar cubes.” 

“Well that’s very fine of you, Kara. Thank you.” She looked more grown since Arthur had last seen her, no longer a little girl. He reckoned she was probably close to Mordred’s age, though he was horrible at guessing the ages of children. 

Percival tousled his daughter’s hair. “I’m about finished with the new roses, and the orchard is coming along. We’re on schedule for opening next week.” 

“Excellent news. Keep up the good work.” Percival’s answering grin showed off straight white teeth. 

Arthur’s cock twitched as he regarded his handsome gardener, but he quickly suppressed the urge. It wouldn’t do to lust after a member of his staff. That thought turned his mind to Gwaine and the text message he’d received earlier that morning. He said goodbye and continued down to the stables where his prized stallion, Excalibur, was housed. The black horse whickered in greeting, butting his head against Arthur’s chest. While Arthur employed a groom to care for the stables and horses, he preferred exercising Excalibur himself when he was at home. “Good boy,” Arthur said with a pat to his neck. “Let’s have a ride, shall we?” 

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/GoodBoy_zps70335238.jpg.html)

They galloped down the wide dirt lane that led from the lake to the lower town, and then skirted around and up the slope that led to Grayson Downs, clearing a few fences on the way. Arthur lost himself in the rhythm of Excalibur’s smooth canter. With just the slightest pressure of Arthur’s right calf, Excalibur performed a lead change and altered course towards Gwaine’s estate. He was the most responsive horse Arthur had ever owned, so well trained he could sense the subtlest movement of thigh or reins, and yet he could easily toss a rider into the air and cause serious injury if he had mind to. That sort of power demanded respect, and Arthur liked to think that he’d spent the last couple of years cultivating Excalibur’s trust. He never abused him, rode him too hard, or raised a harsh voice, and the horse rewarded him with flawless performance. It was a reciprocal, uncomplicated relationship; horses were much easier to understand than people. 

His association with Gwaine was similarly straightforward; they both knew what they wanted from the other, and there were no strings attached, no jealousies or expectations to worry about. After he’d stabled Excalibur and made his way to the house on tired legs, Gwaine greeted him with enthusiasm and a well-practiced kiss. They wasted no time falling into bed. It had been a long time since Arthur had been fucked, and he revelled in the thick slide of the cock in his arse, the way it stole his breath and erased all thoughts of magic and sons and ex-wives. Gwaine made him come, and then he came—and that was that.

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

On the day of Mordred and Mithian’s arrival, Arthur couldn’t sit still. He’d spent the last week making sure Mordred’s rooms were furnished with the latest in technology and style fit for a thirteen-year-old boy (under the discretion of his head housekeeper, Mrs Thomas, who had two teenaged sons), checking and rechecking all was in order. He’d had the piano tuned and given the cook a list of Mordred’s favourite meals.

Mithian would only be staying for a couple of days, and then he and Mordred would be left to their own devices for the rest of the summer—three months to fill with togetherness. He told himself to look at it as a chance to finally bond with the son he’d never gotten to know. Still, another voice reminded him he wasn’t cut out to be a father. Having Mordred here would only prove how true that was.

The car pulled up early on Sunday morning, and Mithian was the first to emerge, lovely as always in a navy dress, a few tendrils of dark hair curling around her face. Her eyes sought Arthur’s directly. She didn’t look a day over twenty. 

“Arthur,” she said. “So good to see you.” 

“Mithian, you’re looking well.” He took the offered hand. A gigantic sparkling rock adorned her ring finger. 

She smiled, and only then did her age show in the fine lines around her eyes. “As are you. Keeping fit, I see. I suppose you have to be beautiful for all of those handsome boys.” How funny that after all the heartache, it had become a joke between them. 

Hughes coughed delicately to his right. He was an old-fashioned butler, a relic from the days when Arthur’s father had ruled Pendragon Manor. His sense of decorum was probably even greater than Uther’s had been. 

_Hello, Arthur._

Arthur startled at the voice in his head and turned to see Mordred standing a few paces away, regarding him with penetrating blue eyes. He was much like Mithian, but there was a resemblance to himself, too, in his straight nose and square jaw. Arthur’s heart swelled as he marvelled at how much his son had grown. He wanted to offer a hug but refrained, unsure it would be welcome. Mordred didn’t seem inclined to come any closer. 

“It’s good to see you, Mordred. I’m sorry did I just . . . hear what I thought I did?” 

Mithian frowned. “Mordred, you know you’re not supposed to do that to people when they’re not expecting it. Apologise.” 

“Sorry.” Mordred stared up at him with his mouth set in a grim line.

“Sorry what?” Mithian asked.

“Sorry, Arthur.” 

Mithian sighed. “He’s your father.” 

“It’s no matter.” Arthur dismissed the reprimand, not wanting to get off on the wrong foot. “You must both be exhausted. Let’s go inside for some breakfast. Mordred, I had Ms Smith cook all your favourites.” 

Breakfast was a dismal affair. Though no one had informed Arthur, Mordred had become a vegetarian. He wrinkled his nose at the sausages and bacon, instead sipping his juice and poking the fried tomato with his fork. 

“This is disgusting,” he said. 

“Don’t be rude,” Mithian said.

“It’s all right.” Arthur shifted in his seat. “I didn’t know you’d stopped eating meat.”

Mordred sent him a dark glare. “Yeah, well you don’t know a lot about me. I refuse to eat the bodies of dead animals. Even the smell makes me sick.”

Arthur grimaced, his own appetite waning. He’d never quite thought about it in that light. “I’ll ring for some cereal.”

“Thank you,” Mithian said when Ms Smith set down a box of Shreddies. “Isn’t that nice, Mordred?” 

Mordred stared at the box as if it were an alien species, then shrugged and poured himself a bowl. The rest of the breakfast passed with polite, strained conversation, Mordred remaining largely silent. As soon as he was finished, he asked to be excused and disappeared up into his rooms. 

Arthur gazed after him. “He’s not too happy about being here. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“He’s a teenager, Arthur. He’s not happy about anything. And anyway, he’ll warm up if you give him some time.”

Arthur scrubbed his hand over his face and tossed his napkin onto the table. He’d barely been able to touch his own food. “So what happened earlier, when I heard him in my head—does he do that a lot?” 

“Not so much anymore; he knows most people don’t like it. He just did it to test you.”

“I don’t think he’s very fond of me.” 

She put her hand on his and squeezed. “Just give him a chance. I think this will be good for you both.” 

Later that afternoon, Arthur knocked on Mordred’s door. When he got no answer, he pushed it open, shocked at what he saw: Mordred lay flat on his back listening to his iPod. The bed was levitating. 

When he noticed Arthur, Mordred sat up and pulled the headphones off, sending the bed crashing to the floor. 

“What are you doing in here?” 

Refusing to let the rebuff dissuade him, Arthur stepped inside and gave the room a quick once-over. Mrs Thomas had set up the room with a flat-screen telly and new games console. On the table near the window sat a silver laptop, open to Facebook. “I just came to see if you were settling in all right. Have everything you need?”

“I’m fine.” 

Arthur paused awkwardly, on the cusp of staying or going. “What are you listening to?”

“Music.” The earbuds went back in. 

The next day passed in much the same way. Mordred kept to his room unless he was required to be downstairs for mealtimes. Mithian told Arthur more about the trouble he’d gotten into recently at school. There were no other magical students, and the ones who weren’t afraid of Mordred teased him relentlessly. He’d reacted in the way a normal teenager would, by lashing out—only with his powers getting stronger, his tantrums had resulted in destruction of school property and a one-week suspension. Now the high school principal had requested Mithian send Mordred to a school for magical children, but the closest one was in Oregon, and Mordred didn’t want to go. 

By the time Mithian was preparing to leave, they’d both decided that it might be a good idea to get Mordred a magic tutor during his stay. Perhaps if they began working on his control this summer, he could stay in regular high school the following year. 

“I’ll call Gaius and see if he has any recommendations,” Arthur whispered as he saw Mithian into the waiting car. They hadn’t yet broached the subject with Mordred, agreeing it would be best to enlist a tutor first before eliciting any unnecessary angst. “He may know someone at Oxford.” 

“Your father’s friend? My God, I can’t believe he’s still alive. He was ancient the last time I saw him.” 

“Sometimes I think Gaius will outlive us all.”

“That’s probably true.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then pulled Mordred into a tight hug that he accepted but barely returned. “I love you, Mordred. I’ll see you in a few months, okay? Call me if you need me, love.” Mordred’s look of betrayal made Arthur think he wasn’t quite buying his mother’s tender parting words.

After the rumble of the engine had faded, a tense silence descended. For lack of any other ideas, Arthur proposed going for a walk down by the lake, since Mordred had hardly seen the grounds. They could swing by the stables and visit the horses on their way. A few months before, he’d bought a young, grey mare called Aithusa with Mordred in mind, hoping that on his next visit they could go riding together. He said all this, but the boy’s eyes remained focused on the drive where the dust from the car had begun to settle. 

“So, what do you think?” 

“I think it’s probably best we skip any pathetic attempts at father/son bonding. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here.”

“I do want you here. I’ve been looking forward—” 

“Right.” Mordred cut him off. “Listen, my mum’s marrying that idiot Geoff and I’m grateful not to have to be there to see it. But don’t start thinking you’re my dad or anything, because as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have one.” 

With that, Mordred stalked away towards the house and left Arthur with a needling pressure in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

“See you next year, Mr Emrys,” one of his students called. Merlin glanced up from behind the daunting stack of final examinations and smiled. 

“Have a nice summer, Gilli.” 

“Same to you, sir.” 

“Bye, Mr Emrys,” another said. “Hope you have a great holiday.”

“Take care, Owaine. Make sure to practice your nonverbal spells.”

“Yes sir. I will, sir.” 

Merlin chuckled as the boy nearly tripped over his feet on his way out the door. He was a good kid, not a very talented—or coordinated—wizard, but sweet. 

When the last stragglers from his Practical Magic class had gone, Merlin stood and erased the blackboard with a blink. He gathered up his exams and gave the room a final check before heading down the hall to the headmaster’s office to say goodbye to Gaius.

It’d been a long school year, and Merlin was looking forward to the break. He hadn’t understood how exhausting teaching full time and living on campus would be. It didn’t leave much time for a social life, especially as it was forbidden for unmarried teachers to have overnight guests, a rule which he understood but was sometimes tempted to disobey. Over the next few weeks he planned to visit his mum in Wales and then take a trip to the continent—Rome, maybe, or Madrid, someplace full of magic and hot wizards and sunshine. He’d spend the summer shagging a fit bloke who didn’t speak English and be back in time for term preparations in late August. 

These pleasant thoughts in mind, he knocked on the dark wood door and opened it a crack. “Gauis?” 

“Ah, Merlin,” said a familiar voice. “Come in, my boy.” 

Gaius sat behind his desk, papers strewn everywhere. He refused to use a computer, arguing that his filing system was in his mind, and any interference with it would disrupt the balance of nature. Whatever Merlin privately thought of the matter, Gaius never seemed to misplace anything.

He smiled, his craggy face lightening. “So, your first year at Edinburgh Academy is over. How do you feel?” 

“Completely knackered,” Merlin said, sinking into a vacant chair. “To tell you the truth I could use a holiday.” 

“I take it you already have plans for the summer? Going anywhere special?” There was something strange about Gaius’s tone. 

“Nothing definite, but I thought I might go to Italy, see some sights. I’ve heard the . . . art is very nice.” 

“Sounds like a marvellous plan. Very educational.” One of Gaius’s unkempt eyebrows arched.

“Oh, I’m going to visit my mum too, Gaius. It won’t be all fun and games.” 

“How is Hunith these days?” 

“Busy, actually. She’s running the local soup kitchen and God knows what else.” 

“So she won’t miss you too much if you only stay for a short while.” 

“Probably not. Wait, why? You have that look on your face.”

“What look?” 

“The look you get when you want something and you think I won’t like what you have to say but you make it seem like it’s really no big deal in order to get me to agree. Like when you said coaching girl’s football would be easy. That look.” 

“Hmm. I wasn’t aware I had a look.” 

“Gaius.” 

Gaius steepled his fingers. “Then I’ll cut right to the chase. Merlin, I need to ask a favour of you.” 

“What is it?” 

“A few days ago I received a troubling phone call from the son of my late friend, Lord Uther Pendragon.” 

Though the name seemed vaguely familiar, it didn’t register. Merlin had better things to do than keep up with the British aristocracy. “Oh?” 

“Uther’s son Arthur lives on the family estate in Oxfordshire—gorgeous land. Have you ever been?”

“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Arthur is looking for a tutor for the summer. The pay would be very high, especially given the short notice and the great need. His son Mordred has been living in America with Arthur’s ex-wife and has never had any magical education. He’s thirteen.” 

“Oh, bollocks.” Thirteen was a very difficult age, the moment when childish, unintentional magic developed at an almost breakneck speed. “Why me? Can’t you ask someone else?” 

“The situation sounds very dire, Merlin. Mordred is very powerful; he’s gotten into trouble back in America and Arthur is worried that if he doesn’t learn to control himself and use magic properly he could do serious harm.”

“Okay, well you’ve convinced me he needs a tutor, but you didn’t answer my question. Why does it have to be me?”

Gaius sighed. “Uther was a dear friend of mine and I care a great deal for Arthur as well. He needs the very best help. And you’re the best.”

“Oh, don’t try to flatter me. It won’t work.” 

“Aside from your considerable magical talents, you have a way with children, Merlin. They respond to you. This is what makes you an excellent teacher. If anyone can help Arthur and Mordred, you can.” 

Merlin frowned. The daft old bugger knew he couldn’t resist a challenge. “What about Italy?” he asked, even as dreams of Rome slipped through his fingers. 

Gaius smiled at him, relief obvious on his face. “Her beauty has stood for over two thousand years. She’ll still be there next summer, my boy.”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Merlin folded the last of his clean clothes and miniaturized the pile to fit into his bag. His mum was already gone for the day; she’d had to be at the church for a benefit that morning, and they’d said their goodbyes the previous night. The visit had been restful but not nearly long enough. He’d received an email from Pendragon the day before requesting he come at once.

After grabbing and buttering a scone in the kitchen, Merlin hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and locked up. It was an easy walk to the station from his mum’s, one he usually enjoyed, but today he couldn’t quite shake the feeling he was one step between the frying pan and the fire. 

Arthur Pendragon’s email, though terse, had held an undercurrent of barely concealed desperation. Either something had happened—bad enough that Pendragon had swallowed his pride and requested Merlin’s immediate assistance—or something bad was about to happen. Merlin had heard the basics from Gaius, and suspected Pendragon had no idea how to handle a child, magical or otherwise. 

Once he’d purchased his ticket and boarded the train, Merlin tried to lose himself in the pages of a book, but his mind kept drifting. The teacher in him wondered about his new charge. He envisioned Mordred as the spoiled and attention-seeking son of a disinterested father. There were lots of students like that at the Academy—kids from rich families who came with an air of entitlement, expecting teachers to dole out approval—who either proved themselves through hard work and study, changing for the better, or left the way they came. It wasn’t their fault, of course, having grown up in privilege, and Merlin generally felt sorry for them and annoyed with their parents. Parents like Pendragon who, from what he’d gathered, had never worked or worried a day in his life. Merlin imagined him: middle-aged, balding, and pot-bellied. 

Suddenly Merlin itched to use his Sight, an impulse he’d been denying himself all week. He closed his eyes and focused on the name. Arthur Pendragon.

His mouth dropped open. So . . . not balding or middle-aged. Pendragon was one of the most striking men Merlin had ever seen. His shiny blond hair flopped over his forehead in a manner that brought to mind shampoo commercials, and he had arresting blue eyes. The glimpse was gone in a flash—Merlin’s power was still not strong enough to hold an image for longer than a couple of seconds—but it was enough to make him grab his phone and perform a Google image search.

There were hundreds of photos of Pendragon in his polo kit with the fit blokes of his team. In one he appeared to be checking out the arse of the player to his left. Merlin couldn’t blame him, all of those shapely chests and tight arses encased in breeches that left nothing to the imagination. But it was one picture, obviously a pap photo, in particular that caught Merlin’s attention. Pendragon sat across from another bloke at a restaurant, their body language too intimate to be friendly. Was Pendragon fit _and_ gay? In photo after photo he appeared haughty, aloof—though sometimes he offered a strained smile. 

Gaius had obviously omitted some crucial details, Merlin thought as he restowed his mobile. Still, it didn’t change anything. He wouldn’t be so superficial as to think it did. Pendragon was his employer, the father of his soon-to-be pupil, and in any case, Merlin was not interested. They obviously would have nothing in common. 

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Pendragon’s chauffeur, a middle-aged-man in full livery, greeted him at the little village station with a formality that made Merlin uncomfortable.

“Let me assist you with that, Mr. Emrys,” he said, moving to take Merlin’s pack. 

Merlin shook his head and smiled. “It’s Merlin, and thanks, but I’ve got it.” 

“As you wish, sir.” 

He couldn’t help feeling he’d somehow insulted the man, though, as he climbed into the back seat of the sleek black car, not daring to offer to ride in the front. The village was small, supporting only one public house and a grocer, a petrol station and post-office. Properties were well kept, quaint in the country way, with shutters and trellised gardens. 

Merlin smiled, feeling a little bit more at home as he gazed upon the lush scenery. As long as he kept his eyes averted from the ridiculous livery worn by George (Merlin had finally wheedled out of him). 

But when they turned off the main road and passed under the wrought-iron gate that announced the boundaries of Pendragon Manor, his nerves returned. 

“All of this land is part of the estate, and it’s all managed by Lord Pendragon,” George announced. The car idled for a moment as a small flock of sheep crossed the narrow lane. “He’s started farming the land again and donates all profits to County Projects.” 

“That’s quite . . . admirable.” 

“Indeed it is, sir.” 

“So you’re fond of your employer.” 

“He can seem a bit cold at times, but he’s the best of men.”

“Hmm.” 

The house, when it finally came into view, stole Merlin’s breath in spite of himself. Online photos hadn’t done it justice. It was an impressive Elizabethan manor, the brick façade stately and well preserved. Two ancient-seeming trees framed the sandstone entrance, lending the scene a hint of rusticity, but Merlin knew that was merely an illusion. 

George parked the car on the looped drive in front of the house and opened the door for Merlin, who left the protective interior with reluctance. 

An old butler who introduced himself as Hughes greeted him. Apparently Pendragon and his son were out for the afternoon but would return early that evening. Merlin had instructions to get settled in the interim.

He followed Hughes on a tour past an empty hall decorated in a baroque fashion, the Manor’s out-of-use ballroom. The formal dining room table could seat twenty guests, at least, but apparently the family preferred the smaller breakfast room for most meals. There was a large library with ceiling to floor shelves and a music room with a grand piano. It was more like a museum than a house, filled with antiques and inherited furniture. Merlin was shown a closed door towards the back of the house and was instructed not to enter the master’s study, as if he had any inclination to. 

All the while Merlin tried to keep up as Hughes rattled off more family history than he could ever hope to remember, no doubt trying to impress upon him the importance of the Pendragon line. Tours on Saturdays highlighted the extensive gardens, where several rose bushes were said to date back to the age when Alexander Pope had been a frequent visitor. Merlin neglected to tell Hughes he found Pope a tedious bore. 

Just when Merlin thought he might expire from information overload, they ended where they’d begun at the foot of the staircase, and Hughes led him up to the servant wing on the third floor.

The room was surprisingly pleasant and modern—a substantial and welcome contrast to what he’d seen below. There was a double bed with a blue duvet, an alcove with a writing desk and settee, and an adjoining private bathroom. A set of symmetrical windows looked out over the front grounds, letting in light through plain curtains. It would suit him perfectly. 

Finally, after instructing Merlin to appear at four in the parlour for tea, Hughes left Merlin to his own devices. Once he’d unpacked and showered to wash away the sweat and grime of the journey, he decided to explore on his own. He gave the family rooms on the second floor a wide berth, instead wandering down a corridor Hughes had indicated led to the portrait gallery. 

At least thirty portraits lined the walls, dating back to the founding of the house in 1567. Merlin was struck by the contrast between this and his mother’s collection of framed photographs, but resisted the impulse to think more highly of the Pendragons simply because they had their own coat of arms. His mother would; she had a love for old families that had never made sense to Merlin. 

Arthur Pendragon’s portrait was the newest and farthest left. It was a handsome rendering, but something about it seemed off—maybe it was the stiffness with which Pendragon held himself. It looked like the picture of a man supremely uncomfortable under the painter’s microscopic gaze. Yet there was something about his eyes and the directness of his expression that seemed to challenge that assumption. Merlin couldn’t put his finger on it, so he shrugged and gave up trying.

Next in line was a severe-looking man in a dark grey suit. The family resemblance was subtle, but the man was Pendragon’s father—Gaius’s friend—Uther. He didn’t seem a pleasant bloke. Not for the first time, Merlin wondered about the connection between his mentor and the Pendragons. When he saw Gaius again he’d have to ask for more detail. 

The portrait next to Uther then caught his attention—a young, fair-haired woman with soft blue eyes. Ygraine Pendragon must be Pendragon’s mother. Here, the similarity was more pronounced; obviously her son had gotten his colouring from her, but her full mouth also recalled Arthur’s. _1954-1978_. So she’d died the year her son had been born—it wasn’t hard to conclude what had probably happened. 

“What are you doing in here?” a stern voice asked from behind. Merlin had been so absorbed he hadn’t even noticed anyone approach. It took a moment to get his bearings at the uncanny; the man speaking to him was undoubtedly the same one staring back at him from the wall—Arthur Pendragon.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know if this wing was off-limits.”

“Tours take place on Saturday only. Who let you in?” The words were clipped as Pendragon strode forward. 

“Mr Hughes let me in, of course. He showed me around and said I was free to explore.” Pendragon’s expression darkened, and a strange wave of déjà vu passed over Merlin. He shrugged it off. Obviously the man misunderstood who he was. “I’m the new tutor, for your son?” 

Pendragon’s brows shot up. “You? _You’re_ Merlin Emrys?” 

“Yes, I am, actually. Last time I checked.” He was used to people underestimating him. As magic matured and developed with age, most of the teachers at the academy were at least forty, but Gaius had hired him on despite his youth. Merlin had shown exceptional control over his abilities by eighteen, and over the next few years had cultivated the power of a much older person. 

“But you’re so young. You can’t be more than twenty.” 

Merlin stiffened. “I’m twenty-five.” 

“There must be some mistake. Gaius told me he was sending his most accomplished teacher.”

So Gaius had withheld information on both sides. “And you expected someone with a grey beard and a cane.” 

“Well, yes, actually.” 

“Age isn’t always a barometer of talent, you know.” 

“But experience is. Mordred is very difficult. I need someone who can handle the task.” 

“Well obviously Gaius thought I could handle it, or he wouldn’t have asked me to come.” 

Pendragon frowned. “Gaius does not know my son.” 

Somehow during the exchange they’d moved closer together, and a sudden awareness of the proximity made Merlin’s retort die on his tongue. Pendragon radiated the sort of strength and assertiveness he’d always found attractive—time and time again to ill effect. He took a step back to regain his equilibrium. 

“If you want me to leave, just say so. I’d like nothing better than to forget this entire thing, myself, since I’m here sacrificing my summer for a prat who obviously thinks it’s acceptable behaviour to growl and intimidate a complete stranger just because that person doesn’t fit said prat’s preconceived ageist notions.” 

Pendragon was all bafflement. “ _Growl_? Don’t be ridiculous. Ageist notions?”

Maybe he’d gone a little far, but instead of backpedalling, Merlin pressed on. “Yes, ageism, discriminating or stereotyping individuals or groups because of their age. An ideology used to justify age-based prejudice, discrimination, and subordination.” 

“Indeed.” Instead of responding in kind, Pendragon smirked. “Perhaps you’ll do after all.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “A ringing endorsement.” 

“Mr Emrys,” Pendragon said in a voice that seemed carefully neutral. “I respect Gaius very much, and if he says you’re the best there is, I have no choice but to believe him. I’m sorry for the way I reacted just now. I appreciate the fact you’ve altered your holiday plans to accommodate me and my son, and if you’ll accept my apology and stay on as Mordred’s tutor, I’d be very obliged.” 

Merlin took a moment to respond, glancing away from the bemused face before him. His blood was singing through his veins, still riled from the fight. “I’ll stay. But I’m doing this as a favour for Gaius, not for you, just so we’re clear.” 

Pendragon’s expression sobered. “Crystal.”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Merlin hadn’t suspected it possible, but his introduction to Mordred that afternoon at tea was even worse than the awkward beginning with the boy’s father in the portrait hall.

“Who is _he_?” Mordred demanded, his magic obvious in the amber that flashed in his eyes. The book he’d been reading lay folded open on his lap, and one of his hands was bandaged. 

“This is Merlin Emrys,” Pendragon said, beckoning Merlin forward. “I’ve asked him here as your tutor.” The housekeeper brought in a tray of silver and set it down. When she went to pour the tea, Arthur held up his hand. “Leave it, Mrs Thomas. We’ll do for ourselves.” She did, but not before sending Merlin a sympathetic glance. 

“But it’s summer. I don’t need a tutor!” Mordred said. 

“Mr Emrys isn’t an ordinary tutor—he’s here to help you control your magic. To teach you how to avoid accidental outbursts.” 

As Merlin watched the scene unfold, it became increasingly clear he’d walked into a situation that required a therapist rather than a teacher. Mordred glared between him and Pendragon, as if unsure which was more blameworthy; Merlin was set against him as an enemy. He had his work cut out for him, he thought. He poured himself a cuppa since Pendragon didn’t seem inclined to make a move.

Finally Mordred’s eyes focused on him. “You have magic?” 

“I do.”

 _Prove it._

“I’m not a trick pony, unfortunately,” Merlin said, unfazed by Mordred’s telepathy. “But if we work together, we’ll be using magic—both of us—quite often.” 

“What if I say no?” He arched a brow in challenge, and in that moment looked uncannily like any haughty Pendragon in the portrait gallery. Merlin almost laughed, but instead he sipped his tea.

“After what happened yesterday, no isn’t an option,” Pendragon said.

Mordred looked down at his bandaged hand. “It was an accident.” 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, confused, “but I’m lost.” 

Pendragon grimaced, his eyes focused on his son. “Mordred broke a glass and cut himself. He isn’t aware of his actions at times, I’m afraid.” 

It was silly to talk about the kid like he wasn’t there. “You broke it with your magic?”  
Mordred nodded. Even though Merlin suspected there was more to it, he let it go. “I see. Well, I can help you learn to control yourself so that doesn’t happen again. And what your father said before about not having a choice, I’m sorry,” he glanced at Pendragon and shook his head, “but that’s not the way I teach.” 

Pendragon inhaled, but Merlin ignored him. At least he had Mordred’s attention now. “And I’m not just here to show you how to control your magic—I can show you how to use it properly, to cultivate it. Would you like that?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Well, how about this, then; let’s give it one week, and if it doesn’t work out and you still want me to leave, I will, no hard feelings.” 

Mordred seemed to be mulling it over. “A trial?” 

“For both of us,” Merlin amended. 

“Okay. One week. But I don’t really think you have anything to teach me that I don’t already know.” Even though his tone was sullen, Merlin thought he detected a hint of curiosity underneath. That would have to be good enough for now. 

“Well, that could have gone better. You didn’t tell him I was coming?” Merlin asked Pendragon once they were out of earshot in the hall. He got an annoyed look in response. 

“No, I didn’t. I suppose I should have.” 

“Definitely. It’s going to be impossible for me to work with him if there’s no trust.” And no hope for your relationship, either, he wanted to add.

“Listen, Mr Emrys,” Pendragon said, his voice hushed. “I know we haven’t got off on the right foot, but I need to know . . . can you help him?”

Pendragon’s mercurial personality had shifted once again; now he was staring at Merlin like he was the only life jacket on a sinking ship. 

“I can try.”


	3. Chapter 3

That night at dinner, attempts to draw Mordred into conversation failed. He brooded into his food, occasionally casting Arthur a scowl. Arthur ate his chicken in silence as the minutes ticked by. Mordred poked at his vegetables, taking giant gulps of his soda instead. 

All the while faint sounds of laughter and talk drifted in from the kitchen that adjoined the breakfast room, where Mr Emrys was eating with the other servants. Suddenly Arthur wished he’d asked Emrys to join them at dinner, in spite of their awkward start that day. At least then Emrys would fill up the quiet with prattle and nonsense and Arthur wouldn’t be forced to struggle alone with Mordred’s silent treatment. Arthur would have to extend the invitation for the following night, that was, if things went well. The possibility that Mordred’s obstinacy would motivate Emrys’ early departure, thus condemning Arthur to deal with Mordred’s magical peculiarities alone, made him frown into his dinner. Damn the idiot for overruling him and giving Mordred a choice in the matter, though Arthur had to concede that Mordred’s response had been more positive than any he’d elicited thus far himself. 

Another burst of laughter erupted from the kitchen. The expression of longing Arthur saw on Mordred’s face hit him like a rebuke. 

Arthur cleared his throat. This time, instead of ignoring him, Mordred stared back. 

“I want to apologise for not telling you about Mr Emrys coming,” Arthur said. “It was wrong of me to keep it a secret.” The words forced themselves out of his throat; he was unused to apologising for his behaviour as he very rarely had anyone to account to, and today had brought two such circumstances. Mordred seemed equally surprised, but just when Arthur thought he might have made some headway, his face shuttered. 

“Yeah, well saying you’re sorry doesn’t change anything. He’s still here and you’re still making me do this.”

“I don’t know what it’s like in America, but here all children with special abilities receive some kind of magical education. If you’d have grown up here—”

“Yeah, well I didn’t, did I? My mum would never send me to a school for—for freaks.” 

“Freaks? Is that what you think you are?” 

“It’s what you think I am.” 

“Mordred, I don’t think you’re a freak.”

“Oh no?” By now Mordred had put his fork down and stood up, his face stormy. “I’m not an idiot; I can see the way you look at me. That’s why you sent for Mr Emrys. Not to help me, but because you’re afraid of me. Of your own son!” 

Arthur was on his feet, then, but before he could respond, the table was upended with a resounding crash that sent dinnerware and food scattering all over the floor. He gaped at the mess, frozen in place, and by the time he looked up, Mordred had vanished. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and all the Saints.” Ms Smith’s voice cut through his daze. “What in the Heavens happened in here, M’lord?” 

Not for the first time today, Arthur was truly at a loss. “I . . . there was an accident.” 

Mr Emrys appeared that instant next to Ms Smith. “Pendr—My Lord. Um, I’m not sure what to call you, but that’s no matter. Are you all right?” Through Arthur’s shock he registered for the first time how handsome Emrys was—high cheekbones and straight nose, a dark mop of thick, unruly black hair. Odd that he hadn’t noticed before, but then again when they’d first met Arthur had been so bothered by a stranger in his home looking at his mother’s portrait without his permission, he’d been blind to anything else. It had brought up unpleasant memories, and for a moment Arthur lost himself in thoughts of Uther’s betrayal of the family honour: the affair with the maid that produced a sister Arthur hadn’t known about until after his father had died. 

Emrys regarded him with a disconcerting mix of sympathy and irritation. His eyes were a steely grey-blue. 

Arthur remembered himself. “Quite all right, thank you.”

“What happened?” 

“We had a bit of an argument and Mordred got upset.” 

Hughes had already begun to pick up shards of china, his age showing in the difficulty he had bending over. 

“Hughes, don’t trouble yourself.” Arthur moved to help him, stepping cautiously over the debris. “The cleaning staff will be down momentarily.” 

“Let’s not leave it until then,” Emrys said. He raised a hand. “If you don’t mind?” 

Arthur watched holding his breath as Emrys’ eyes glowed amber and then turned to a luminous gold. A gentle wind suddenly began to rise, becoming stronger, and then to swirl, raising all of the mess—the food and broken dinnerware, the wine bottle and glasses—and fitting them back together on the newly upright table. Emrys controlled the movement with his hands and gaze, never breaking focus until the entire room had been reconstituted. 

“Well I’ll be,” said Ms. Smith. “That is some powerful magic, Merlin.” 

Emrys turned back to her, his serious expression morphing into a grin. “And it’s fun, too.” 

“Yes, quite impressive,” Arthur said. “Thank you for that. You’ve saved the staff a good deal of work.” He’d never seen magic performed so expertly at such close proximity. Worse, he’d obviously been wrong in his early distrust of Gaius’s recommendation: Emrys was both powerful, and calm in the face of crisis. A renewed embarrassment at his early behaviour swept over him. He could hardly blame Mr Emrys for his own thunderous thoughts about Uther.

“Well, I wouldn’t eat the food or drink the wine, but at least it’s off the carpet.” 

It took Arthur a moment to realise Emrys was addressing him. The rest of the staff had left them alone. 

“Is Mordred all right?” Emrys asked. “What was your argument about?” 

It was too presumptive, too familiar. Arthur felt his ire rise again. “That’s a personal question, Mr Emrys, and I’ll ask you to stay out of my family business.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interfere. But frankly it’s my business too, if I’m to be Mordred’s tutor. I need to know why he’s behaving this way so that we can address the root of the problem. His magic is acting out because he’s obviously upset.” 

“Don’t make assumptions about my son. You don’t know anything about him.”

“I admit that, as I only arrived today, but what’s your excuse?” 

Arthur’s skin prickled. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. Gaius told me you haven’t spent much time with him since he was little.” 

“Did he now?” Arthur sneered. “I’m thrilled to know my failings are being aired to complete strangers.” 

Emrys blinked but continued, seemingly undaunted. “Distance is hard on everyone, but it’s especially rough on children.” 

A memory tickled at the back of Arthur’s consciousness, one he’d often tried to repress. The day Mordred and Mithian had left for America, Mordred had been so excited about flying he hadn’t understood it was a permanent goodbye. He’d chattered on and on about the plane, excited about California but wondering why Arthur wasn’t coming with them. Arthur had hugged him and told himself it was for the best, his heart ripped into shreds. 

“What do you know of it?” he asked in a hard voice. 

“A lot of children I teach have difficult home situations. It can affect behaviour, especially if they think it is their fault.” 

“He was only a little boy when he moved with his mother to America. How could it have been his fault?”

“You don’t know much about children, do you Pend—Mr Pendragon.” 

“Not as much as you, I’m sure.” Though he’d injected sarcasm into his tone, Emrys ignored the prod. 

“He’s thirteen now. Have you talked to him about it?” 

“Every time I try, he just explodes like this.” His shoulders grew heavy. 

“Okay. Well, listen, I’ll try to talk with him, but I don’t want to push it. You asked me before if I could help him, and I’ll try, but I’m a teacher, not a miracle worker. If you want him to come around, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” 

Arthur looked Emrys in the eye. There was something about the man that got under his skin; he didn’t know if he liked or hated the way Emrys spoke to him, like he knew all of Arthur’s most intimate secrets, things he didn’t even know himself. 

“Thank you, Mr Emrys. I’m going to check on Mordred.” 

“Please, call me Merlin. Mr Emrys is what my students call me and it makes me feel so old.” He almost responded to the twinkle in Emrys’ eye, but a general weariness and longing to get away overruled the impulse. 

“All right. Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur said. It was an odd thing to be called, but it suited him. 

“Goodnight.” 

Upstairs, Mordred’s door was locked from the inside. Arthur knocked briskly and got no response. He stood for a moment in the corridor, caught between the impulse to walk away or demand Mordred open the door.

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” he said instead, unsure whether his son could even hear him. “I just don’t understand, and I . . . want to.” 

There was no response.

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Merlin watched Pendragon go, unexpectedly moved by their interaction. Whatever had happened between him and Mordred tonight had been unpleasant, and as unenthusiastic as Merlin felt about the prospect of facing a reluctant student the following day, he also knew that dealing with a magical teenager when you didn’t have magic yourself was like trying to negotiate a minefield wearing a blindfold. Merlin often wondered how his own mother had survived without tearing her hair out and packing him off, but then again, they’d had Gaius.

He sighed and tore his eyes away from the empty door. The rest of the staff said goodnight before retiring for the evening, and he did the same, trekking up to the third floor even though it was barely nine. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to stay up wandering the house without permission, though he knew that was probably silly. In any case, his room had a telly and he was exhausted from the long day. 

His room was warm and comfortable with a slight breeze coming in from the open windows. Merlin undressed and pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms, and then flopped down on his bed. He considered grabbing a book but knew he wouldn’t last five minutes. In spite of his misgivings about spying, he gave into his Sight once again, just to see if Mordred was all right. The boy was asleep in his bed with the lights on. Good. What Merlin saw when he focused on Pendragon was more disconcerting—he stood outside of Mordred’s door, head bowed and face obscured by shadows. Something tugged on the inside of Merlin’s ribs as the image vanished.

That glimpse was enough to keep Merlin awake for several hours before a fitful sleep claimed him.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days proved to be the trial Merlin had anticipated. He initially thought it would be best to establish a trust between them before they began addressing more serious matters, but Mordred seemed determined to drag his feet. Whatever Merlin proposed, Mordred participated in without enthusiasm. Nearly every word that came out of his mouth was a complaint. There were a few times when Merlin performed some magic—a transportation spell to move from one end of the room to another, for example, or a summoning charm—when Mordred’s eyes lit up and betrayed his interest. But every time Merlin pressed him to talk about his own magic, he resisted and grew sullen again. 

Merlin suspected the defiance had less to do with him than it did with a desire to frustrate his father, so he persevered, buoyed by a conversation with Gaius, who reaffirmed his belief in Merlin’s abilities and reminded him it wasn’t like him to back down from a challenge. 

If Pendragon was hurt by his son’s standoffishness, he never showed his emotions openly and appeared reluctant to participate in Mordred’s education. For the most part, Merlin saw little of the master of the house aside from daily progress reports and meals, which he had begun taking with Pendragon and Mordred rather than the staff. Otherwise Pendragon was either engaged in his study or off gallivanting God knows where. He seemed to have made evasion into an art form. 

One thing was for certain: Merlin needed a new tactic with both of the bloody stubborn idiots, and fast, as tomorrow the trial week would be over, and he’d made almost no headway. 

Merlin checked himself in the mirror above the dresser, patting down the hair around his temples. He should have gotten it cut before coming to the manor, not that he gave a toss if Pendragon found his grooming questionable. The hair would not be tamed, though, despite Merlin’s best efforts. Frustrated, he ran his fingers through it and mussed it again. 

Pendragon and Mordred were already seated for breakfast when he arrived; they looked like they’d held off eating, and Pendragon glared. “It’s about time.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” said Merlin, pulling out a chair. “But you could have started without me.” He grabbed a piece of toast and slathered it with marmalade, aware of Pendragon watching. Unfortunately, he looked more and more gorgeous each day; today he wore a white linen shirt that showed off his broad shoulders, unbuttoned just enough to display a hint of tanned skin and neat chest hair. 

Pendragon cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t want to be _rude_.” 

“You’re the one sending daggers my way. Like I said, you could have started. I’m only the help, after all. 

Merlin wasn’t sure if the tightening of Pendragon’s jaw held back a smile or a frown. “Yes, I’m aware of that.” 

The marmalade was delicious, obviously homemade, with a hint of lemon and mint. Merlin tried to ignore Pendragon’s scrutiny as he munched his toast. He turned to Mordred. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.” 

“Well, I have to know for certain. One of the things the Great Dragon taught me is never go into battle without a full night’s sleep and a healthy breakfast, though for him that advice has often resulted in the destruction of entire villages.”

Mordred scoffed. “Yeah, right.” 

“You don’t believe in dragons?” 

“No, because I’m not an idiot.” 

“Mordred—” Pendragon said, his voice holding a warning. 

“It’s all right.” Merlin waved it off. “I didn’t believe in them either until I met one. I suppose I should say him, because Kilgharrah is the last of his kind. He’s very snotty about it.” 

“You’re telling me you’ve seen a dragon? And talked to it?” Mordred asked, deadpan. 

“Mm-hmm,” Merlin said through a forkful of eggs. 

“Wow, you’re even crazier than I thought.” 

Pendragon grunted. It was actually rather funny watching his expressions mirror his son’s, as if he’d like to say the exact same things but was holding himself back for propriety’s sake—for a change. 

They finished breakfast quickly after that; Merlin was eager to get on with the morning and their first lesson. 

“So what are you up to today?” Pendragon asked as the three of them stood. Merlin noticed he was wearing his riding breeches, the form-fitting ones that emphasised his undeniably perfect arse. Merlin glanced away. It wouldn’t do to be caught ogling the prat. “You can use the library if you like. I’ll be out of the house all morning.” 

Merlin looked from Mordred back to Pendragon and shook his head; the kid was so pale, the last thing he needed was another day inside. “Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ll take a walk around the grounds.” 

“A walk? Doing magic? But people will see and it might . . .” Mordred glared as Pendragon fought for the word. “Distract them.”

“Don’t worry about that; we’ll be invisible.” 

“Invisible?” Pendragon’s brows knit together. 

“Yes, if it would make you feel more comfortable. And don’t worry—it’s perfectly safe. Come along, Mordred.” 

Mordred trailed quickly behind him, the haste in his step saying more than he probably ever would. 

Once they were outside on the back patio, Merlin smiled, cheered by the warm sunshine. He turned to Mordred and shrugged. “So where should we walk? You’re the young master.” 

“No, I’m not. I hate it here.” 

“It’s not so bad.” 

“But you can leave whenever you want.”

“There has to be something you like about it.” 

Mordred scowled, shading his face with his hand as he surveyed the grounds. “Not really.” 

“If you don’t have any better ideas, let’s go this way,” Merlin said, gesturing in the direction of the lake. 

“Whatever.”

Merlin had been out exploring a few times on his own, but had mainly kept close to the house after that first night in order to be near if something else happened. Today, though, he felt the pressing need to stretch his legs, and so he took off with a long stride that encouraged Mordred to keep up. They walked a few paces, the dewy grass crunching under their feet. 

“I thought we were going to be invisible,” Mordred said. 

Merlin bit his lip to keep from smiling. “If you insist.” He whispered the spell that would hide them from sight, adding a silencing charm for good measure, and then glanced at Mordred. “Done.”

“How do I know it worked?” Always a skeptic.

“No one will see or hear us for the next hour at least.” A few tourists had parked in the public lot and had begun to walk down the path towards the gardens; just as they were about to intersect, Merlin called out to them. When they didn’t respond, Mordred inhaled sharply.

“How did you do that? What’s the spell?”

“Maybe if you behave I’ll teach you someday.” 

Mordred seemed deep in thought. “That’s kind of freaky. I mean, you’re practically a stranger; you could abduct me or kill me and no one would know.” 

“Sure, if I wanted to do those things, I could, the same as anyone. But I wouldn’t. People with magic are just like ordinary people. The difference is we have stronger power, so our duty is even greater.” 

“That sounds like a load of bullshit.” 

“It’s not.” Merlin steeled himself. “If we’re going to work together you need to understand that you are absolutely not to use magic to harm another person—even if you get really angry.” He thought back to the previous day when Mordred had confessed to setting his soon-to-be stepfather’s car on fire. “Even if it seems like the person deserves it. And that goes for other people’s property, too.” 

Mordred nodded, obviously aware of what Merlin was referring to. He frowned. “It was an accident. I was just so angry when she told me they were getting married. She’s way too good for him.” 

“It happens. When I was your age I uprooted a huge tree in our backyard that had been there for a hundred years. My mum was so pissed off.” Mainly because he’d very nearly taken out the neighbour’s house as well; explaining it as a fluke natural disaster hadn’t been an easy, or entirely convincing, feat. But that had been before they’d talked openly of Merlin’s powers.

“So how do you stop it?” Mordred asked the question tentatively. This could be the breakthrough he had been looking for. 

“The key is not to let your emotions rule your magic, but it takes practice, and it’s not always easy. When you feel it starting to build, making your hands and feet burn, you know that feeling?” Mordred nodded. “Well, then you need something else to focus on, something that will channel that negative energy. I teach my students to always have a touchstone in mind, a person or thing you care about more than anything. When you feel yourself starting to go over into that burning place, you imagine your touchstone and channel your magic there.” 

“That’s stupid.” 

“Maybe, but it’s effective.” 

“What if I don’t care about anything?”

“I don’t believe that’s true. There must be something you love. Your mum. A friend from school? A hobby?” By now they’d come to the shore of the lake, which was really more of a pond, filled with geese and ducks and the odd lily pad.

Mordred watched the ducks with his back turned. “This isn’t going to work.” Before he could walk away, Merlin reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Mordred stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“I think it will. But listen, we don’t have to work on that yet, yeah?” He let his hand drop. “How about a game of twenty questions, but because we’re still getting to know each other, we’ll make it five. You must have something you want to ask me. I promise to answer truthfully, but then I get to do the same.” It was a long shot, but Merlin hoped he’d piqued Mordred’s natural curiosity. 

“No deal.”

Merlin put his hands on his hips. “What are you, scared?”

Mordred’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not scared.” 

“Prove it.” 

“I can ask anything?”

“Yep, anything you want.” They started walking again.

“Fine. Are you a homo like my father?”

Not the question he’d been expecting. Merlin tried not to let his surprise show; obviously Mordred had intended to shock him. “Yes. Does that bother you?”

“Not really. There are plenty of gays in L.A., so I’m used to it. But you’re not here to, like, try and get with him, are you?”

“Get with him?” Merlin sniggered. All of those years abroad had turned Mordred into a right little American. The impulse to laugh faded, though, when he considered the suggestion seriously and the obvious worry behind it. He was surprised at the twinge of disappointment in his gut. “No. I’m not going to ‘get with’ your father. I’m here on a strictly professional basis.” Mordred appeared satisfied. “Next question.” 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done with your magic?”

Merlin frowned. Another hard one, and the truthful answer wasn’t something he liked to think much about. “I was in sixth form and I fancied this girl, Freya—”

“You said you were gay.”

“I am, but I did like a girl once. Anyway, she fancied a friend of mine and I sort of, er, used my magic to make her choose me instead.”

“Wow, that is pretty awful. I’m impressed.” 

“Don’t be. It wasn’t my finest moment, and anyway, it didn’t work for long. Those kinds of spells never do, and they almost always have consequences.” 

“So what happened?” 

“They were both so angry at me they wound up closer than ever. Eventually they got married and we lost touch. And that’s your third question.” 

Mordred arched an eyebrow. “You tricked me.” 

“Maybe. Okay, fourth question.” 

“Were you serious about the dragon?”

“Dead serious. He lives in a cave in one of the most remote glens in Scotland. If you’re lucky, maybe someday you’ll meet him.” 

“Is he . . . No, let me rephrase that. Tell me what it was like.” 

Merlin chuckled, kicking a rock out of the path. “He said it was my destiny to be your tutor.” 

“Shut up. Really?” There was something endearing about the way Mordred’s eyes lit up; Merlin instantly regretted the jest. He decided to let the fact Mordred’s surprise had been voiced as a question slide.

“Nah, I’m just kidding. He was a bit of a drama queen, but mostly we just talked about football. He’s an Arsenal fan.” It had been a very strange experience indeed. 

Mordred seemed to be fighting a smile. “You are _so weird_.” 

“Last question.”

“What did my father tell you about me?” 

Merlin exhaled. “Only that he’s worried. He knows you’re not happy here.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe they should have asked me what I wanted before.” 

“I can’t argue with that. But don’t you think you could maybe give it a chance?” 

“Why do you care?” 

In spite of the hard time Mordred had given him so far, he liked the kid. Maybe it was because of his stubbornness. He had spirit. “Well, because I think you’re more than just a punk-arsed brat and I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let me.” 

The pound of hoof-beats made Merlin pause and turn to seek the source; his breath caught at the sight of a tall black horse, coat gleaming in the sunlight. Pendragon was astride and riding hard in the opposite direction. He was obviously a very talented horseman, though Merlin knew little about the sport. Arthur didn’t seem to notice them, but Merlin couldn’t look away, watching as the pair faded into the distance. 

“Where’s he off to, I wonder?” Merlin asked aloud. 

Mordred scoffed. “Probably to his boyfriend’s. He’d rather be anywhere but here.” 

“He’s got a boyfriend?” 

“I’m counting that as your first question, and yes, I think so. I saw him kissing some guy the other night after he thought I was asleep.”

Merlin’s skin prickled with discomfort. “You shouldn’t spy on people.” 

“I was just curious.” Mordred shook his head. “Now I’m scarred for life. Second question.” 

“What do you like about magic?” 

Mordred seemed surprised by the change in topic; he’d obviously been expecting a follow up question about what he’d seen, but Merlin didn’t want to know. It certainly was none of his business what Pendragon got up to, anyway; but now he faced the awkward prospect of warning him to be more discreet. 

“I dunno. Sometimes it makes me feel . . . so free. Like I could do anything. Be anything.” 

The sincerity of the response surprised Merlin. He nodded, waiting for Mordred to go on, but he grew silent again. 

They’d come to the opposite shore of the pond, which gave them a perfect view of the house and surrounding grounds. Everything was manicured and ordered but made to look natural. Even the bees buzzing from flower to flower along the shore seemed somehow choreographed in their dance. The forbidding size of the place impressed Merlin once again, and he found his thoughts drawn back to Pendragon, wondering about his life here, whether it was lonely. If Mordred was right and his father did have a lover—or lovers—nearby, perhaps it wasn’t at all. Merlin would probably never know. 

“What don’t you like?” 

“It sometimes seems like the opposite. Like I’m trapped, and I have no choice.” 

“I know how that feels. When I was your age I used to hate my magic sometimes. I didn’t like to feel different. The other kids could be pretty awful about it.”

“Yeah, the kids at my school are jerks. But I don’t really care what they think about me.”

“Don’t you have any friends?” 

“Not really. And I don’t want to be their friend, anyway. I have better things to do with my time then hang around a bunch of stupid jocks. And that’s your third question.” He grinned, obviously pleased to beat Merlin at his own game. 

As far as what he’d said about not caring, Merlin wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but he figured he might as well take advantage of the situation to press a bit further. “Okay, well what do you like to do when you’re not terrorizing the general populous?” 

Mordred smiled. “I play the piano. I’m pretty awesome at it, too.” 

“You’re so modest.” 

“You asked. And that was a waste of a fourth question.” 

“Okay, here’s one for you: why are you so angry with your father?” Maybe it was a low blow. Mordred seemed stunned that Merlin would ask. His face clouded over and for a few moments Merlin wasn’t sure Mordred would answer at all. 

“He didn’t want me then; he doesn’t want me now. He’s afraid of me. Do I need any other reasons?” Mordred spoke coldly, but he couldn’t disguise the slight waver in his voice. There was also anger there, more anger than Merlin had ever heard inside someone so young. “And now I’m done with this game.” 

Merlin felt a bit deflated as he followed a scowling, cross-armed Mordred back towards the gardens. A few people milled around, and by now the spell had worn off, so he and Mordred were visible again. So it was what Merlin had anticipated; Mordred felt unwanted here and either Pendragon hadn’t done enough to show his son he was loved, or Mordred was right. The second option would be unforgiveable, but Merlin suspected the answer wasn’t that clear-cut, as much as he sympathised with Mordred. 

They rounded a row of hedges and Mordred suddenly came to a stop, his eyes widening. Not a few feet from them stood the tallest man Merlin had ever seen—maybe the broadest, too—mulching the ground near the bushes. His gardener’s overalls announced his occupation: he must be Percival, the only member of the staff Merlin hadn’t met. Next to him a slight girl wearing dirty jeans and a worn T-shirt crouched with her hair in her eyes. She looked up and smiled, revealing dimpled cheeks.

“Hiya! Mordred!” She waved and skipped over. “Do you remember me from the last time you came? We played in the shed with those action figures you brought?” 

“Yeah,” Mordred replied. His cheeks pinked. “I remember.”

“Mordred, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Merlin asked.

“This is Mr Emrys.” Mordred stared at the ground. “He’s my tutor. Mr Emrys, this is Kara.” 

“Oh, that’s bollocks you have to have a tutor over the summer. No offence,” she said to Merlin. 

“None taken.” By this time the gardener had put down his tools and joined them. He had a presence that would have been imposing if not for his handsome face and kind smile.

Mordred’s cheeks only got redder. “Well it’s not because I _need_ a tutor. My father’s making me.” 

Kara nodded quickly. “Of course.” 

“So does this mean I get to stay?” Merlin nudged Mordred and received a noncommittal shrug. He grinned back. Victory. 

“Welcome to Pendragon Manor, Mr Emrys.” The gardener extended his hand. “I’m Percival. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

He had a firm, calloused grip. If not for the children, Merlin might have swooned a little.   
“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to be here. You’ve done a lovely job with the garden.” 

“I appreciate hearing that,” said Percival, giving Merlin a wink. “Let me know if you want the tour.” 

“Will do.” Merlin couldn’t tell if he was flirting or just friendly. 

Nearby Kara and Mordred were chatting; Mordred seemed to have relaxed a little and was now listening to whatever Kara was saying with a shy smile on his face. The expression made him look almost sweet. 

Percival followed his gaze. “They got on well last time he visited; to be honest, she’s talked about nothing else for a week.”

“Mordred could use a friend, I think. Maybe they could spend some time together.” 

“I think Kara would love that. Tell Mordred to come round later after lunch. I’ve got a fence to paint, and I’ll set the two of them to work.” 

Merlin wondered if Mordred would object. “It’s worth a shot,” he said, smiling back at Percival. The man’s good humour was infectious. 

It turned out they hadn’t needed to interfere; Kara had already invited Mordred over to play video games that evening, and from the look on Mordred’s face as he and Merlin continued back to the house after saying goodbye, he was looking forward to it.


	5. Chapter 5

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Arthur’s limbs itched for movement despite Gwaine snoring quietly beside him. He never stayed so long after sex, but he dreaded going home to another one of Mordred’s tantrums. Not that he could nap. He stared at the ceiling with his hands behind his head as the seconds ticked by. He would be expected back for dinner soon. Or he could just stay here, maybe have another go with Gwaine and try to forget the way Emrys—Merlin’s—eyes had lingered on him in the morning when he thought Arthur didn’t notice.

He’d made a point to maintain distance during their conversations, not only because it wouldn’t do to find his son’s tutor attractive. He needed to give Merlin and Mordred space to get to know one another so the trial would be a success. 

_You’re a coward,_ said the voice in his head that belonged to his father. _And worse, you even lie to yourself._ The guilt of his past rose up, souring all of his thoughts.

Arthur had feared discovery from the first moment he took an interest in his classmates’ arses as they showered. He had been eleven. That long, steamy room became a gauntlet of temptation, feet and legs and hair and chests and pricks that called to him in spite of the knowledge that such feelings were abnormal. He knew what his father thought of homosexuals. And so he’d vowed that nothing he did would ever bring suspicion upon him. He didn’t look, and even though some other boys did, he didn’t touch. But he wanted—almost as much as he needed to be the perfect son and make his father proud. 

All throughout his youth he did his best to suppress his yearning, even going so far as to publicly disparage more effeminate boys, and at twenty-one he naively believed that marrying a woman might be the solution. Still, the day Mithian had told him she was pregnant was one of the most devastating of Arthur’s life. She’d come to his rooms crying that her parents were threatening to disown her unless she married. Uther was in favour of the match. What could Arthur have done? He’d swallowed the bitter pill with a smile and asked her to be his wife. It was his mistake for being careless and his duty to fix it, and at least the union had the added benefit of providing a cover for his own aberrant thoughts. Moreover, an alliance with one of England’s most eminent families would provide the Pendragon heir his father had always desired. 

Arthur was faithful to Mithian for nearly five years, and in that time had never been so lonely—or desperate. It became too much. He began to seek out anonymous release in bathhouses and clubs, fucking men he’d never seen before and never would again. Until he’d met Leon. 

Leon was from a good family nearly as wealthy as the Pendragons, had attended Eton and then Oxford, just as Arthur had. Unlike Arthur, however, Leon was completely comfortable in his own skin, and with him Arthur discovered acceptance and another way to live. He was in love for the first time. What had begun as a casual affair quickly turned serious, and when they grew serious, they grew careless. When Mithian discovered them in the flat they’d let she was furious. Divorce loomed, though by then Uther was dead and it hadn’t mattered to Arthur that their separation caused scandal; the evidence of his newly discovered half-sister had already done enough damage to Uther’s precious family name, anyway. He was finally free.

Freedom had a cost. His affair with Leon hadn’t survived the divorce. But what was far, far worse—after having a child he’d never wanted and marrying for the wrong reasons, Arthur loved his son, and it had taken the impending separation to realise how much.

_We’re leaving England. He’ll be better off with me._

You could have fought for him, said the voice in his head—not Uther’s now, but his own conscience. You let him go too easily. No wonder he hates you. 

Mordred _had_ been better off with Mithian. 

He should never have come here. 

He is like this because of you.

“Hey, Arthur.” A gentle hand shook his shoulder and he groaned, emerging from the cocoon of pillows reluctantly. “Trying to suffocate yourself? You know, I’ve heard auto-erotic asphyxiation is dangerous.” Gwaine blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “Better to try it with a wiling partner.” 

“Ha,” Arthur said, clearing his throat. The last thing he wanted was for Gwaine to see him on the verge of self-pitying tears. He sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I’ve got to get back to the house.” 

“Ah, yes, daddy-duty calls. How’s it going, anyway?” 

Gwaine asked the question with such caution, Arthur’s gut twinged. He hadn’t told his friend much about the tensions at home, but then again Gwaine knew him well, and he _had_ been visiting with unusual frequency. The reality was probably obvious. Still he answered, “Fine.” 

“Hmm. All right. But if you want to talk, I’ve been told I have fantastic post-coital listening abilities.” 

“Thanks, but as I said, everything is fine.” Arthur pulled on his riding breeches and stood. Gwaine looked decadent sprawled over the bed, all limbs and gorgeous skin wrapped in silk sheets. He arched an unconvinced eyebrow up at Arthur. They had been mates for so many years; perhaps Arthur was a fool for not wanting more with him. “I promise.”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Mordred seemed in better spirits than usual that evening, even joining in the conversation and answering Arthur’s questions without rolling his eyes; he ate quickly and asked to be excused, leaving Merlin and Arthur to finish up alone.

“Where’s he off to in such a hurry?” Arthur asked. His earlier melancholy had somewhat lifted during the dinner, but he hadn’t quite reached equilibrium yet. Part of the problem was that despite the athletic sex he’d had that afternoon, he still found himself admiring the exposed length of Merlin’s neck and his pronounced Adam’s apple. He told himself it was merely an aesthetic observation. 

Merlin folded his napkin and placed it on the table, resting his fingers on it. “Oh, he’s got a date with _Kara_.” 

“A date?” Arthur couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Isn’t he a little young for that?”

“And here I thought you were going to object because of her class.” 

“This isn’t Downton Abbey.” Arthur wasn’t going to rise to the bait, though he knew by now it was Merlin’s way of teasing him. 

“Touché. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it; they’re just playing some new computer game.” Merlin chuckled. “We ran into Kara and Percival in the gardens this morning and she invited him over. I think it’ll be good for him to have someone his own age to hang out with.”

Arthur nodded. “You’re right. I should have thought of that.” 

“Stop it, you’re going to give me a big head if you keep agreeing with me.” 

“Well, it seems you’re not entirely useless, Merlin.” Arthur nodded towards the door through which his son had vanished. “I haven’t seen him this happy in ages. Did something else happen today?” Hope was a surprising, and not entirely welcome, feeling. In his experience it had most often led to disappointment. Still, Arthur sat up straighter in his chair and watched Merlin’s face run through several expressions before it settled on pleased. He forbade himself to wonder what Merlin had thought of Percival. 

“Yes, well, I was meaning to talk to you later. Privately.” Something about the word or the way Merlin said it sent a shivery pulse of energy up Arthur’s spine. But Merlin was looking at him very seriously, which promptly quenched the spark. “We had a bit of a breakthrough. I think.” 

“Well, spit it out then, Merlin.” 

“I feel a bit bad repeating it, and, erm . . . It’s a couple of things about you. But if I tell you, you have to promise not to have a fit. Remember, this is about what’s best for him.” 

Ever since the night when Mordred had upended the table and Merlin had fixed it, Arthur had felt his own control of the situation slipping away, or at least the illusion he’d had any to begin with. Mordred had rejected him, maybe once and for all, and it seemed nothing he could do would change it. If only he could be like Merlin and let the insults and derision roll off his back. But he couldn’t. 

Arthur suggested they retire to his study, which offered a familiar, comforting setting for what he suspected was going to be an unpleasant conversation. After choosing a leather chair near the window, he bade Merlin sit opposite. He did, his knees knocking together as he perched on the edge of his chair. 

“Port?” Arthur asked, reaching for the bottle on the side table. 

Merlin nodded. “Sure, why not. I guess I’m off duty.” He accepted his glass and took a small sip, letting out a happy sigh. “This is good. I really like Port. How do they age it, in barrels like whisky?” He was stalling, and not very well. 

“Just get on with it. What did Mordred say?” 

“He doesn’t feel like you want him here.” Merlin ran one of his long fingers around the rim of the glass. “And he thinks you’re frightened of him, but what I really think he meant was his magic.” 

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known, but to hear it from a near stranger, well, that was another matter entirely. “I see.”

“Um, I have to ask . . . is any of that true?” 

“Of course not. I’ve told him I want him here, but he doesn’t believe me; I’ve done everything—got him that laptop he wanted, redid his room—there’s a horse for him down in the stables, but he doesn’t want to ride. I—” Merlin was holding up his hand, so he stopped rambling, flustered. 

“I hate to point out the obvious, but you know those are all _things_ , right? Money can’t buy love and all that? I’m pretty sure what Mordred needs is some time with you.”

“Well I can’t exactly force him, and he’s made it perfectly plain he’s not interested, so.” It was a pathetic excuse even to his own ears, especially as he’d been intentionally avoiding the house all week. 

“So what? He’s only a kid, as much as he’d like to think otherwise. If you let him walk all over you, he will, believe me. And the easier it is for him to turn you away, the more it confirms he’s right. So you can’t make it easy.” He leaned a bit forward, as if offering a secret. “If it makes you feel any better, if he really didn’t care, he wouldn’t be upset about it, yeah?” 

“Gauis didn’t tell me you were a therapist, too,” Arthur said in an attempt to deflect the emotion trying to claw its way into his throat. “I hope you don’t expect a pay rise.” 

Merlin simply rolled his eyes and went on. “And about the magic, look, I know it can be weird. My mum was terrified of the things I could do when I was growing up—it’s totally natural. So I was thinking.” 

“Don’t hurt—”

“Don’t hurt myself, I know.” Merlin sipped his Port. “I was _thinking_ maybe you could join us on occasion during lessons, get to know more about Mordred and magic at the same time.” 

It was an interesting suggestion. Arthur couldn’t deny he was intrigued. “But would Mordred go for it?” 

“I’m not sure, but I think maybe if you talk to him first, he’ll probably be okay. And listen, I really don’t understand a lot of what’s going on with you, but it would really help me as a teacher if you were more involved in general. I’m not a babysitter.”

“I never said you were.”

“But yet every day you ride off on your little pony and leave me to look after your son.” 

Arthur sat forward, affronted. “I do not ride off every day.” 

“Yes you do.” Even in the dim light of the coming evening, Arthur noticed an intense blush colouring Merlin’s high cheekbones. He’d never seen him so embarrassed before. “And that brings me to the second thing. Mordredsawyouwithaman the other night and he was a bit . . . traumatised? Like I am right now, basically, to have to bring it up. I just thought you should know.”

“Oh bollocks.” Arthur finished his Port and poured a second glass. “He told you that?” 

Merlin nodded. “We were playing a game.” 

“What kind of game?” 

“Twenty questions. You want to play?”

“Not in the slightest.” 

“What are you, scared?” 

“I’m not _scared._ ” Arthur scoffed.

“You two are so much alike, it’s frightening. Anyway, I’ve got to go make a call, so I have to cut this short.” Merlin stood and stretched, his shirt lifting to show a sliver of white belly. Arthur quickly looked away. “But do we have a deal, about the things we discussed?”

“Yes, I’ll talk to him about the lessons. So I take it you’re staying?”

“I’m staying.” 

It felt somehow like a new start. Arthur stood and now offered his hand. Merlin had a firm grip, but his palm was soft under Arthur’s fingers, which tempted him to linger. Embarrassed, he dropped the hand as though it had burned him. 

Merlin’s goodnight smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Arthur loitered in the doorway of Mordred’s room for a moment before entering. He’d only just managed to get Mordred back to the main house with some help from Percival—apparently his son and Kara had been in the midst of an ‘insanely hard level’ of whatever game they were playing and had informed the adults that they had to finish or their failure would be ‘all your fault and we’ll hate you forever’. In any case, Arthur was glad Mordred seemed to have made a friend. Maybe it would make him a bit happier to be here.

That certainly seemed to be the case. Mordred hadn’t even protested when Arthur had knocked and asked to talk. He was propped up under the covers with a book in his lap—some Sci-Fi series he seemed to be obsessed with—and watched as Arthur approached and sat down on the bed. 

“So you had fun today?” 

“It was pretty cool.” 

“Kara is a nice girl. She’s . . . cute.” 

Mordred cringed and blushed. “Please, _please_ don’t.” He pulled the covers over his head. 

“Sorry, is that not what the kids are saying these days? How about, she’s _fine_.”

“You’re so lame. Oh God.” Mordred moaned. “I’m going to die.” 

His mortification was such an unexpected and wonderful response Arthur had to fight back a laugh. “I get the point, I get the point. I promise I won’t say anything else.” 

Gradually Mordred re-emerged from under the blanket. “Well, I’m kind of in the middle of reading, so.” 

“There’s something else I wanted to ask you.” 

Instantly wary, Mordred frowned. “Okay…” 

“I was talking to Mr Emrys tonight and we thought—I thought—I’d like to join the two of you during some of your lessons, if that’s okay.” 

“Why?” Still doubtful. The only way he was going to get through to Mordred was by putting everything on the table, even if that meant exposing himself. He looked his son directly in the eye. 

“Because you’re right that I don’t understand about your magic, but I’d like to learn more about it. I’d like to get to know you, Mordred. I know I haven’t been the best father, but that’s my fault, not yours, and it’s not because I don’t love you. Someday I’ll tell you the whole story, but I want you to know that there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by I haven’t thought about you or missed you. I’m sorry for letting you down, but even if I don’t deserve it, I’m asking for a second chance.” As he’d spoken, Mordred’s expression morphed from surprised to stony. 

“He told you what I said.” 

“Don’t be cross with Mr Emrys; anyway, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t already told me. But I’m ready to listen now.” 

Silence settled between them as Mordred looked away, then down at his book. Maybe it had been too much, too soon. He should have waited for a more opportune time. Floundering, Arthur asked, “What’s your book about?” 

“Oh, it’s about this alternate world where everyone has magic and those who don’t are the weird ones.” 

“Can I see?” 

The book was passed over and he glossed the back of the cover, nodding. “Sounds good. Maybe I can read it when you’re done.” 

Mordred shrugged. “If you want.” 

“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it.” Before he stood, Arthur patted Mordred’s knee, not wanting to leave but realising he probably shouldn’t press more tonight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Hey, Arthur?” Even though the address made Arthur cringe a little, the tone of Mordred’s voice was hesitant—shy. “You can come to a lesson if you want.” 

It was a small victory, but Arthur fell asleep that night feeling like maybe, just maybe, he was on the path to redemption.


	6. Chapter 6

“Today’s lesson is on telepathy,” Merlin said. Mordred sat forward in his chair, his eyes never wavering. “It’s one of your most developed talents, and it’s also one of the most valuable. With telepathy, you can communicate with other sorcerers without speaking, but what if you want to talk to someone non-magical?” Merlin raised an eyebrow, waiting for Mordred to answer.

“You can’t,” he finally said. “I’ve tried it with my mum and even though she can hear me, I can’t hear her. It’s impossible.”

“Wrong,” Merlin said. He stood up and went to retrieve a book from one of the shelves. The library was one of the most private places in the house and they’d taken to using it for morning lessons. Even though the room didn’t have any windows, Merlin loved the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and had been shocked to discover some rare magical books among the more commonplace, expected fare. When he’d brought his finds to Arthur’s attention, he’d been just as surprised; Arthur was under the impression that Uther had purged the library of its magical contents in the wake of Ygraine’s death. Merlin understood why no one had ever noticed them; the books had concealment charms placed on them, and it required someone with magical ability to recognise them for what they were. 

“What’s that?” Mordred asked when Merlin lifted up a gorgeous specimen with a jewel-encrusted vellum binding. When Merlin had talked to Gaius the night before, his mentor had gushed over its provenance for nearly an hour. 

“This, my lad, is one of the rarest books in all of England. You’re lucky I came along to find it. Old families like yours often don’t have any idea how valuable their possessions are.” 

From the corner of the room, Arthur snorted. Merlin resisted the urge to stick his tongue out, but he had to admit Arthur had been good for his word. For the past few days Merlin’d had two students, both of them alternating between curiosity and scepticism, though Arthur did a better job of concealing his feelings for Mordred’s sake.

“So what’s so special about it?” Mordred asked. 

“What’s so special about it is it contains some very old magic—magic that can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Without this book, William the Conqueror would never have taken England—”

Another snort from Arthur. Merlin turned to him and glared, but the prat just smiled at him, his left cheek barely dimpling. 

Merlin refused to be ruffled by the way his belly warmed at the sight. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, _Mordred,_ William used spells from this book to win the Battle of Hastings. Did you learn about that in school?” 

Mordred shook his head. “Sounds boring.” 

“It’s not. And anyway, the textbooks will teach you that William’s stronger force won the battle. The details don’t matter, but suffice it to say that this country would have had a very different history without the spells contained in this book.”

“Wow, you are such a dork.” 

“Yeah. When it comes to books, I am. Here,” Merlin brought the book to him, “take a look.”

The boy frowned as he leafed through the pages. “I can’t read this.” 

“That’s because it’s written in Latin,” Merlin said. “And anyway, we’re not going to be messing about with most of it after what happened to William.” 

“What happened to him?” Mordred stared up at him.

“So now you’re interested, hmm? Maybe we’ll have to do some history lessons as well. Those American schools aren’t teaching you anything.” 

“Oh God, forget I said anything.” 

During the exchange, Arthur had stood. He was now peering over the back of Mordred’s armchair. “What about the telepathy?” 

“I’m getting to that,” Merlin replied, taking the book up again. He flipped towards the back section, which detailed some of the less harmful, more practical spells. “Basically,” he said, “in order for it to work, you have to have a willing comrade—a _volens amicus_ —and once you make the mental connection, you repeat the spell. _Audi me audiam te._ It’s quite simple.” 

“What does it mean?” Mordred asked.

“Hear me and I will hear you,” Arthur said. He came around the chair and gave Merlin a self-satisfied smirk.

“Ah, very good. I see someone took his basic Latin.” 

Arthur crossed his arms, seemingly unfazed. He moved a bit closer to see the text, this time craning his head over Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin flushed. A few days before, Arthur had been late for dinner and, worried in spite of himself, Merlin had used his Sight. The image had seared his parietal lobe—Arthur, naked and thrusting into the arse of a long-haired man. The vision had only lasted a second, but it had been enough to confuse and arouse him, so much so that he’d had difficulty talking to Arthur that evening about Mordred. He’d vowed never to spy on his boss again. 

It was a most inconvenient time to remember it again now—or to recall the wank he’d given in to later that same night. Arthur was standing close enough that Merlin could feel the heat of his skin. He quickly put some space between them before his own body responded, hoping it didn’t appear too obvious to Mordred, who observed everything and nothing by turns. 

“So,” Merlin said once he was safely seated in the chair opposite Mordred. “Should we proceed?” 

The two Pendragons looked at him with cocked heads. “What do you mean?” Arthur asked. “You mean with us?”

“Who else?” Merlin rolled his eyes. “You’re willing, yes?” he asked Arthur. “And Mordred, you want to get better?” 

“I guess.” 

Father and son regarded each other warily. Arthur nodded his head. 

“Just try to be nice, both of you. I won’t be able to hear you,” Merlin said. “Now Mordred, do you remember what to do?” 

Mordred’s eyebrows drew together. “I go into his head first, right? And do I think those words or say them out loud?” 

“You think them,” Merlin said. “This spell was originally designed for espionage, so people could communicate and convey information without speaking.” His own father had probably used it often, Merlin thought with a little pang. 

“Right. Okay.” 

“ _Audi me audiam te_ ,” Merlin repeated. “Go ahead.” 

He watched as Mordred stood and faced Arthur. They both seemed to be concentrating. Mordred’s expression changed after a moment, becoming cloudy. “It’s not working,” he said. Arthur’s disappointed eyes met Merlin’s.

“Did you hear him?” Merlin asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “But he couldn’t hear me.” 

“Did you pronounce the words correctly?” Merlin asked Mordred.

He nodded. “ _Audi me audiam te_ , right?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” Merlin turned the pages of the book and examined the notes that followed the spell. It took him a moment to work out the Latin, which was written in a rather flamboyant script by whatever monk had copied it. “Ah,” he said, jabbing his finger at the page. “I see. You might have to work on establishing the connection a bit first. If the magic senses one or other of the parties isn’t fully amicable, it won’t work.” He paused. “The text suggests holding hands.” 

“What?” Mordred’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not holding hands. That’s so gay.” 

“Mordred.” Merlin narrowed his eyes. 

“Sorry. I meant to say that’s so weird.” He glanced at his father, who surprised Merlin by holding out his hand. 

“It won’t bite,” Arthur said. “And anyway, I’ve changed your dirty nappies. This is a lot less weird than that.” 

“You are so embarrassing, oh my God.” Mordred’s face flamed. 

Merlin made a show of clapping the book shut. “Hmm. Well I guess that’s it, then. We might as well give up for the day.” 

Mordred stared at his feet. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He took Arthur’s outstretched hand. Merlin pretended to study the book. 

It was quiet in the room for a few minutes. Merlin had to give Arthur credit—he really was trying in a way that Merlin had never expected. Already Merlin had begun to sense a change in Mordred, whose complaining and seeming reticence was consistently overturned by his eagerness to learn and perform well. He responded positively to a challenge. The day before they’d even started working on controlling his wild magic by establishing a touchstone. Of course Mordred wouldn’t tell them what it was, but that didn’t matter. The very fact that he’d agreed to try—as surly as he’d been about it—mattered a great deal to Arthur, whose attitude had improved in tandem with his son’s. 

A laugh broke through Merlin’s thoughts. Mordred was smirking and Arthur was gazing fondly back. 

“What’s so funny?” Merlin asked. 

The other two exchanged a suspicious look. “Oh, nothing,” Mordred said.

“I don’t trust you. You’re making fun of me in your minds, aren’t you?” Merlin crossed his arms.

Mordred shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, you _really_ like that book.” 

“Well, I’m glad I can offer some amusement.” He pretended to be hurt, but inside he ran a victory lap. 

Later, once Mordred had been excused for the afternoon and had run off to hang out with Kara, Merlin decided to take advantage of the in-ground pool near the tennis courts. Now that things seemed to be going well, he figured he deserved a proper break. After changing in his room and grabbing a towel, he went out the servant’s entrance at the back of the house and crossed the kitchen garden. 

He was surprised to find he wasn’t the only one with the idea. Arthur was doing laps, arms sluicing through the water with hardly a splash. Merlin froze with his hand on the gate and contemplated retreat, but before he could move, Arthur saw him. He stood up in the shallow end, swiping his hair back from his eyes with a practiced motion that accentuated the muscles in his arms and chest. Water beaded and trailed down his tanned skin. Merlin swallowed and came through the gate, averting his gaze. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I use the pool.” He tossed his towel on a reclining chair. He hoped he sounded casual. “Mrs Thomas said it would be all right.” 

“Not at all. I mean, not at all, of course it’s all right.” 

Merlin could feel Arthur’s eyes on him as he pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his trainers. When he turned again, Arthur had moved back to the deep end and was now treading water. Though Merlin normally liked to ease himself in, he jumped to avoid further scrutiny. 

“Bloody buggering hell that’s fucking cold!” he said when he broke the surface. His lungs seized.

“Tsk tsk, what a mouth on you, Merlin.” 

Merlin ignored Arthur and immediately performed a spell to warm the water. His body relaxed. “Ahh, that’s better.” 

“I preferred it cold.” 

“You would.” 

They stared at one another for a moment, Merlin not quite able to figure out what the expression on Arthur’s face meant. He didn’t seem to be offended by the teasing, but there was something troubled in the look all the same. Rather than dwell on it, Merlin flipped over onto his back and swam a length of the pool, careful to give Arthur wide berth. He focused on his breath and the burn of his muscles; exercise was supposed to help clear the mind, after all. 

As Merlin swam, his thoughts drifted to Alastair. It was strange, as Merlin had hardly wasted a minute on his former uni professor in years, but today the memory of their ill-advised affair reasserted itself with a troubling immediacy. 

Alistair was attractive, sophisticated, and witty, the kind of man both women and men stared at when he walked into a room. Even though he’d been twenty years Merlin’s senior, his magnetism wasn’t lost on Merlin who, at nineteen, had been a peculiar mixture of cocky and shy. He set his sights on the man during the first week of his Magical History course. It was a blundering seduction. Merlin let his gaze linger longer than necessary and drew attention to his own mouth by sucking on the back of whatever writing implement was available, a technique he’d learned from his friend Morgause, who’d read it in a magazine. But he never would have made an actual move—in spite of the way Alistair sometimes returned his stares. 

All of that had changed one day toward the end of first term when Alistair asked Merlin to stay behind after class was over. He was very impressed with the way Merlin’s magic was maturing and wanted to recommend him for an advanced course the following term for the most gifted students. Merlin had been giddy, flattered—and then Alistair had kissed him. 

Merlin’s legs went shaky as Alistair pressed him up against the wall of the classroom and ravaged his neck with kisses. Merlin had only kissed Freya before, and that hadn’t been anything like this. He hardly knew what to do, so aroused he came in his trousers with only the pressure of Alistair’s hips against him. After that he was lost. He couldn’t resist Alistair, who was persistent and aggressive and so attentive. Their affair lasted the rest of the year until another professor caught them and threatened to expose the relationship if it continued. Merlin was defiant; he was soon to be out of Alistair’s course, and he suggested they wait until end of term to pick things up. But Alistair had ended it, worried about his career. A few months later Merlin heard that Alistair had met another man and moved with him to London. Merlin was devastated, but he’d learned his lesson.

Merlin swam another length of backstroke, then grabbed onto the side of the pool and heaved himself out of the water. Sometime during his swim, Arthur had also exited the pool and now reclined on a deck chair reading the paper. The swimming trunks he wore left little to the imagination, and Merlin forced his gaze up, but even Arthur’s chest was problematic. Arthur glanced over the paper when Merlin approached, dripping, to retrieve his towel. 

“Have a good swim?” 

Merlin nodded and sprawled on a chair a few removed from Arthur. “It’s almost like being on holiday.” 

Arthur gave him a wry smile. “So, what were your plans for the summer, if I hadn’t imposed on you?”

“I was going to go to Rome.” 

“Ah. No wonder you’re disappointed.” 

“As Gaius said, she’ll still be there next year.” And so would all of the beautiful Italian men, he thought, to remind himself. Just as beautiful as Arthur. 

“Merlin . . .” Arthur looked at him tentatively, like he wasn’t sure he should go on. Merlin’s pulse picked up. 

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to thank you for today. For what you did.” 

“I didn’t do anything.”

“But that lesson, don’t tell me you didn’t pick it on purpose.” 

“Maybe just a little. I didn’t know it would work, though,” he quickly added. 

“You’re a good teacher.”

“Thanks.” Merlin flushed, hoping Arthur wouldn’t notice or would attribute it to the sun, which was rather strong. Maybe he should go back to the house before another of Arthur’s compliments went to his head. Instead, he found himself asking, “What did you talk about?” 

“Well, we did take the piss a bit. Sorry.” 

“I knew it.” But the corners of his mouth wouldn’t turn down. 

“And then I told him I was proud of him. I’m not sure I’d ever said it before.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He said ‘thanks’. I was expecting him to tell me to fuck off.” 

Arthur was grinning like he’d just run a marathon in record time. It was dazzling.

“That’s great, Arthur.” 

“It’s something. It’s really something. You were right, about the spending time thing. I never knew. My father didn’t have much time for me when I was growing up.” 

Merlin had a feeling Arthur Pendragon never spoke so plainly; it was so tempting to read more into it, not to mention confusing and dangerous. Thinking about him in any other way beyond strictly professional, as he’d promised Mordred, was a guaranteed recipe for disaster. He should definitely go back to the house, but still he stayed glued to the spot. “I never met my father. He died before I was born.”

“I’m very sorry. Can I ask how?” 

“He worked for the government as a mediator in International Magical Conflict Resolution. When my mum was pregnant, he died in an operation in Bolivia that went tits up.” 

“Bollocks.” Arthur frowned. “So you got your magic from him?” 

“That’s what Mum says.” 

“You’re close with her?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes, thinking of the conversation he’d had with his mother the previous day. She’d heard about a gay phone application and had called to urge him to use it to meet someone new. When he’d told her most of the time men just used it for sex, she’d been a vocal advocate, _as long as you use a johnny._ “Sometimes too close.” Merlin arched an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want to play twenty questions?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m just—I haven’t met many people with magic.” Arthur flushed, seeming suddenly unsure. 

“I thought it ran in your family?” 

“On my mother’s side, but most of her relatives are dead. And she died having me.”

“So we have something in common, of a sort.” 

Arthur nodded but didn’t say any more. 

The silence became uncomfortable. Merlin cleared his throat and stood, wrapping the towel around his waist and gathering his things. “It’s awfully hot. I think I’ll get out of the sun before I burn to a crisp.” 

Arthur snapped open his paper again.


	7. Chapter 7

Ten o’clock, the alarm next to his bed blinked. Arthur yawned and stretched. He hadn’t slept this late in years. 

He took his time showering and dressing, and by the time he got downstairs he expected Merlin and Mordred to have long since finished breakfast and gone on to the library, as they did each Wednesday morning. They were still sitting at the table when he entered the breakfast room. 

“Rise and shine,” Merlin said. He reached across the table and poured Arthur a cup of steaming coffee. Arthur stared. It was such a domestic action, but Merlin performed it as perfunctorily as though he’d been pouring Arthur coffee for years, instead of never. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said after he took a seat. The hot breakfast had long gone cold, so rather than bother Ms Smith, he grabbed a scone, jam, and some clotted cream. “I didn’t mean to oversleep.”

“Oh, surely even the great Arthur Pendragon deserves a lie-in once in a while. Or is being an early riser written into the family DNA?” In spite of Merlin’s teasing tone, Arthur couldn’t think of a rejoinder. He could barely meet Merlin’s eyes now when they weren’t talking about Mordred. 

“I wish _I_ could sleep late,” Mordred said from across the table. 

Merlin cleared his throat. “You have things to do.”

“Ugh, this summer is the worst.” 

“Stop complaining or we won’t do the invisibility spell today.” 

“But you promised.” 

“Only if you’re not a brat.” 

Arthur half-listened to their banter as he ate. He couldn’t deny he was envious of the easy way Merlin had with his son, but at the same time he’d never expected so much progress so soon. The day before, Mordred had even come down to the barn with him to see Excalibur and Aithusa, and when Arthur had asked if he wanted to continue the riding lessons they’d begun on his last visit, Mordred said yes. Arthur wasn’t sure if he’d answered that way because he was really interested or because he was humouring him; either way, it was a far cry from the beginning of the month. 

His attention refocused when Merlin addressed him. “Arthur, Mordred has something to ask you.”

“No!” Mordred crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Merlin. “I thought you said you would.” 

“I’m not the one who wants a mobile. I already have one.” Merlin grinned.

“You’re such a jerk.” 

“What do you want with a mobile?” Arthur asked Mordred. “You’re only thirteen.”

Mordred made a disgusted sound. “I’ll be fourteen in September. That’s only three months away.” 

“I didn’t have a mobile when I was your age.” 

“Mobiles didn’t even exist when you were his age,” Merlin added helpfully. 

Arthur glared at him. “Do shut up, Merlin.” 

“Kara has one. And I want to be able to text her, you know, to make plans and stuff.” His son’s face had gone red as the family crest. 

“Ah.” 

“So can I?” 

There wasn’t any reason to say no he could think of, but he supposed he should talk it over with Mithian first. She and Geoff were off to some remote corner of the world on their honeymoon, but she’d be calling that afternoon for the regularly scheduled check-in. 

“I’ll have to talk to your mother.” 

“I just know she’ll say yes. Please?” 

Arthur glanced at Merlin. “What do you think?”

“It’s not my decision, but most kids these days have them. I would say as long as you set rules for minutes and usage, why not?” 

Arthur looked back to his son. “All right. We’ll discuss the conditions later, but yes. You may have a mobile as long as it’s okay with your mother, too.” 

“Awesome! Thanks, Arthur!” 

Warmth spread through Arthur’s chest. The sensation became hot and clenching as Merlin smiled at him from across the table. 

Arthur couldn’t understand it. He noticed when men looked at him in an appreciative way, and he’d been certain the day at the pool that Merlin felt something for him. Against his better judgement, he’d even gone so far as to open up to Merlin about his parents before Merlin had stopped the conversation in its tracks. Since then, Arthur had relived the encounter in his mind again and again, trying to figure out how he’d so badly misinterpreted the situation. Ultimately, he concluded it was for the best nothing further had passed between them. But yet it was impossible not to recall Merlin, lean and slim and wet, moving like a graceful cat as he emerged from the water. 

Hughes interrupted breakfast to announce the arrival of Mordred’s piano tutor. The boy left the table after eliciting another promise from Merlin that they’d work on invisibility later in the day. 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Arthur asked once he was alone with Merlin. “Giving him that sort of ability?” 

Merlin frowned. “I’m planning on teaching him the version that only lasts for a few minutes. I wouldn’t show him anything dangerous.” 

“But couldn’t he use it to spy on other people?” 

“I think the more we show him we trust him to use his power well, the more he’ll want to.” 

“I suppose. But did you always use your powers well when you were a teenager?” 

Arthur had meant the question innocently enough; he was surprised and intrigued when Merlin blushed. “We all do things we regret.” He was examining the napkin on his lap like it held the key to life itself. 

“Has Mordred said anything to you about the wedding?” Arthur asked to change the topic. Mordred had barely mentioned his mother’s recent marriage, at least to him. 

“Not a word,” Merlin replied. “I’m wondering if that’s a good thing or not.” 

“Hmm.” 

They talked for a few minutes longer as the sounds of the piano drifted from the other room. Mordred was working on a complex sonata that he’d chosen himself, though the instructor had worried it was too advanced. Even though Arthur didn’t know much about the technicalities of classical music, he could tell that the piece was more polished than it had been a week before, the fits and starts coming less often.

“He’s good,” Merlin said when he noticed Arthur listening. “Very good.”

“He didn’t get it from me.” 

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” 

“Well, that’s because you haven’t known me very long.” 

“True. You probably give yourself far too much credit.” 

“In some matters.” There was a little crumb at the corner of Merlin’s mouth, and Arthur imagined using the pad of his thumb to wipe it away. First he would do that and then he would kiss the place where his thumb had rested.

“Are you going to join us later in the library?” Merlin’s question startled him out of his fantasy. He looked away. 

“I think I’ll go for a ride. I’ve been neglecting Excalibur.” It was the only remedy for the madness addling his brain. 

“Right. Have fun.” Merlin said in an unusually clipped voice. 

“I’ll be back for dinner.” 

“Great.” 

Instead of taking Excalibur over the hill to Grayson Downs, Arthur rode to the far fields at the edge of the estate, where the sheep pasture met the river Arthur had often swum in as a boy. It was a secluded area, protected by a nest of thick trees. Arthur led Excalibur to the water and let him drink, then tethered him to a branch and looked at the clear, rushing water. Here, with the help of a few childhood friends, he’d built up a wall of rocks along one side of the river to encourage the basin above to fill into a sizeable swimming hole—or so he’d believed when he was young. Now it only appeared deep enough to reach his waist. He smiled at the memory before stripping and wading out over the slippery rocks. 

After he’d swum—or as close an approximation as he could manage—he reclined on a large boulder in the sun to dry himself, figuring with the thick undergrowth he’d hear any intruders long before they saw him. No one from the village ever came this far out, and Merlin and Mordred would be in the library for the afternoon. 

He shouldn’t feel guilty about missing a lesson. For over two weeks now, he’d attended every day; Mordred surely wouldn’t mind this one absence. But Merlin hadn’t been pleased, and the memory of his scowl made Arthur’s stomach twist. Maybe he should have gone to visit Gwaine instead of coming here. Caring so much about what Merlin thought of him would only lead to trouble.

His thoughts coupled with the residual chill of the water and the breeze made relaxing impossible. Resigned, Arthur dressed and led Excalibur out of the thicket to remount. He’d do a circumference of the estate to check the fences; it would be just the thing he needed to keep his mind occupied. 

That night Mordred was sullen at dinner. He asked to be excused after hardly touching his food, and Arthur realised with belated chagrin that his absence had been taken to heart after all. 

“I should go talk to him,” Arthur said. 

Merlin regarded him with a blank expression. “Do what you want, Arthur. You always do.” 

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing. I forgot myself. Have a good night.” He pushed back his chair and left the room without another word. 

Of course it was impossible to have a good night with neither Merlin nor Mordred talking to him. Arthur had a glass of whisky in his study as he mused over the day that had started out so well. After checking on the fences, he’d ridden to Gwaine’s, only to discover his friend had gone to London and wouldn’t be back until mid-July. The news had been a surprise, but he hadn’t even been disappointed, which was troubling for another reason altogether. And now he was back to square one with Mordred. 

No, he refused to believe that was true. He drained the remnants of his glass and headed up to the second story. 

He knocked on Mordred’s door and got no response. “Mordred, I’d like to talk to you. Are you still awake?” 

It was only half nine, after all, and he knew his son stayed up until eleven or later listening to music, even though Arthur had tried to establish a more reasonable curfew. “Mordred?” He tried the handle to find the door locked. He knocked harder. “Open the door. Now.” 

Still no response. 

Luckily, Arthur had a master key for every room in the house. He went to retrieve them and unlocked the door, bracing himself for an angry son, and was met instead with an empty bed. 

He called out again, but after a quick inspection of Mordred’s rooms turned up nothing, he decided to investigate the rest of the house. When he discovered all of Mordred’s usual haunts—the piano room, the kitchen, and the library—were empty, his blood, already pumping, surged with adrenalin. Before he could think he found himself in the servant’s quarters in front of Merlin’s door. The door swung open. His hand, poised mid-knock, fell and clenched into a fist at his side. He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Merlin in his soft-looking t-shirt and jogging bottoms. His hair was mussed but he didn’t appear to have been sleeping, if the pair of thick-rimmed glasses and the book he was holding was any indication. After a momentary lapse, Arthur remembered himself.

“Have you seen Mordred?” 

“Not since dinner. What’s wrong?” 

“He’s not in his room, and I’ve checked everywhere. I can’t find him.” 

Merlin was instantly alert. He took off his glasses. “All right. Let’s not panic. Come in for a second.” 

The door swung wider and Arthur hesitated a moment before entering. The space was neat, but signs of Merlin were everywhere—from the shoes on the floor to the pile of books on the desk, books Arthur didn’t recognize but knew were from his library. The messy bedclothes provided more evidence that Merlin had been lounging in bed. 

“Sit.” Merlin pointed to a chair. “Now where did you look?” 

Arthur described his search as Merlin listened from his perch on the bed. “And the game room?” 

“He wasn’t in there.” 

“Okay.” Merlin bit his lip. “He was pretty upset this afternoon, had a little trouble containing his magic—nothing major, so I didn’t want to worry you. I think it had more to do with the fact Mithian didn’t call like she’d promised than the fact you were out.”

“He wanted her permission for the mobile.” 

Merlin nodded. “And he wanted to talk to her. I think he’s been feeling a little down about not being there for the wedding.” 

“She asked him if he wanted to be there and he said no.” 

“Right, well, like I said before, kids are weird. But we can worry about that later. Let’s find him first, all right? I’m going to need a moment of perfect silence.” Merlin had pushed away from the bed and was now pacing in front of Arthur, his brow furrowed. 

“For what?” 

“Shh.” 

Arthur shifted in his seat as Merlin went rigid, his eyes widening and glazing over for a moment before they closed. 

“He’s with Kara. In a room, maybe hers. I think we should call Percival.” 

“Kara—how do you know?” Arthur rose. 

“I, erm, have the Sight. I can see anyone, anywhere in the world, but only for a second or two.” 

“Oh.” Before Arthur could ask why it only worked for a short time, Merlin had already   
grabbed his mobile. 

Percival was just as surprised, and angry, to find Mordred in Kara’s room so late at night. After a little bickering on the other end of the line, it was decided that Arthur would collect Mordred from the cottage. He asked Merlin to come along. 

“I was watching footie,” Percival said after showing them inside. “Strange I didn’t see him come in.” 

Arthur nodded, noting the close distance between the living room and the entryway. The stairs that led to Kara’s room were to the left, but still easily viewable from the sofa upon which Mordred and Kara now sat, wearing similar dejected expressions.

“Come along, Mordred,” Arthur said. “We’ll discuss this at home. Do you have any idea how worried we were?” 

“I’m sorry,” Mordred said. He sounded like he meant it.

“Yes, I imagine you are, now that you’ve been caught.” Arthur put his hand on Mordred’s shoulder and turned him around. “Now apologise to Mr Overland for sneaking into his home.” 

“Sorry, Mr Overland.” 

“It’s all right, lad,” Percival said. “But let’s not be doing it again, you hear?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Arthur held out his hand to shake Percival’s. “Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll speak with Mordred myself, just to be sure.” 

Once they were making their way back to the main house, Arthur realised Merlin had been uncharacteristically silent during the whole exchange. It didn’t take long to discover why.

“Mordred,” Merlin said. “Did you use the invisibility spell I taught you to get inside the Overlands’ cottage?” 

After a beat, Mordred answered. “Yes.” 

“What did I tell you about magic and responsibility?” 

“I know. I know, okay?” His voice went high-pitched. “I just really needed to see her and since I don’t have a _phone_ I had no other choice.” 

“You always have a choice,” Merlin said. “Always.” 

The night was cool and the sky was full of brilliant stars, lit by an equally vibrant moon. Arthur put one foot in front of the other, torn between wanting to rebuke Merlin for teaching Mordred the spell in the first place and wanting to wring his son’s neck for making him worry. 

“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt this was a one-time thing,” Merlin said. “But I’m going to have to reconsider some of our lessons now.” 

“No!” Mordred said. “Like _you’ve_ never done anything wrong. You’re such a hypocrite. You told me all about the love spells and that girl Freya.” 

“What?” Arthur asked, turning to Merlin. 

Merlin kept his gaze focused ahead. “Nothing. It’s not important.” 

When they got back inside, Arthur asked Merlin to wait in his study while he took Mordred upstairs to bed. It was already well after midnight. 

“Look, I’m sorry I snuck out,” Mordred said before Arthur had a chance to begin. “It was stupid of me and I promise not to do it again. Can I go to bed now?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you about today. Your mother didn’t call?” 

“It’s no big deal.”

“I’m sure there was a good reason.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Merlin said your magic went a bit . . . wobbly.” 

Mordred crossed his arms and sat on the bed. “Only a little. I didn’t even break anything, I swear. You can ask Merlin.” 

“Well, that’s good. But after tonight, I’m still going to have to take away some of your privileges for a few days. No computer, no phone, and no Kara until Sunday.” 

“But that’s four days away!” His eyes blazed. 

“You’ll live. Unless you want to make it a week?” 

“No. No. Fine.” 

Arthur stood in the doorway a moment. “I was worried, you know, when I couldn’t find you.” He didn’t get an answer, but he hadn’t really expected one. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

When Arthur entered his study, he was surprised it was lit only by the moonlight. Merlin stood by the window looking out over the silent grounds. He didn’t turn when Arthur came in. “I’m in trouble, too, I suppose.” 

“What were you thinking showing him that spell when he was upset about his mother?” 

“We did the spell work first, before the tantrum, if it makes any difference.” Merlin’s face was in shadow and his tone was hard to read. By now Arthur’s anger had almost entirely dissipated, but his body was still wound tight. He rubbed at his neck to relieve some of the tension. 

“Not really. You knew I wasn’t keen on him learning that type of magic.” 

“We were making so much progress. Maybe I got a little carried away.” 

Arthur cleared his throat. “I hope from now on you’ll be more cautious.” 

“So you’re not sacking me?” 

“Do you want to be sacked?” 

“Not really.” 

“You could still make it to Rome.” During the conversation, Arthur had moved closer so that he was standing next to Merlin by the windows. He noticed for the first time they were of similar height, and that in fact Merlin might even be a bit taller. When Merlin spoke again, he finally met Arthur’s eyes. 

“I’ve heard Rome is bloody hot in the summer.” 

Something pulled at the base of Arthur’s gut, a deep twinge that warmed his belly and made him lightheaded at the same time. He couldn’t look away from Merlin’s lips. 

“Yes, that’s probably true.” 

“I don’t mind being here.” 

“That’s good. I don’t mind you being here.” 

“Thanks.” 

“And anyway, all things considered, he is only thirteen. I know I did worse than sneaking out of the house when I was that age.” 

Merlin chuckled. “I can’t believe it, the prince himself? What did your father say?” His voice had gone soft and intimate. A shiver ran down Arthur’s spine, flaming the heat in his belly. He was on the verge of doing something very stupid. 

“He didn’t know. And when he found out, I was punished for it. Worse than the four days I’ve just given Mordred.” 

“Four days? I’m impressed. I thought for sure you’d let him off.” 

“I thought about it. But I want him to know I’m serious. That I care.” The invisible strings, the ones he’d felt at the pool, tightened again. Arthur shifted closer.

“You do, don’t you?” 

“Very much.” The distance between them would be easily breached. All Arthur had to do was push Merlin up against the glass so he couldn’t escape, so that he could be kissed as fully as Arthur wanted to kiss him, with their bodies pressed together. 

He must have taken too long to decide. Before he knew what was happening, Merlin was making an excuse about having an early start in the morning.

“Will you be joining us?” Merlin sounded like a man trying hard not to seem flustered. 

Arthur struggled to get his own bearings. “Yes, of course.”

“I think we’ll start working on some defensive magic, in case Mordred is bullied again at school. But nothing too violent and no more fun tricks, at least for now.” 

“Very good.” 

“Thanks for not sacking me.” Merlin smiled as he moved out into the bright hallway beyond the door. “You’re a good man, Arthur.” 

“Am I?” Arthur asked the room after Merlin disappeared. Every nerve ending in his body insisted he follow Merlin, but his brain reminded him of all the reasons it wasn’t a smart idea. In the end, his brain won out.


	8. Chapter 8

“How is it going, my boy?” Gaius asked. In the background Merlin could hear a dull roar that sounded suspiciously like the sea. 

“Fine.” He took a sip of his pint. “Better. Though we did have a slight glitch the other day.” 

“Ah, that’s to be expected. Nothing too serious, I hope?” 

Merlin didn’t have the strength to get into the whole invisible magic fiasco and its aftermath. He should have known better than to teach Mordred that spell. Even now, days later, he got uncomfortable thinking about it. “Nothing too serious. We’ve been working on defensive magic. Mordred’s quite good, actually. He’s got the nonverbal hand-binding spell down perfectly.” 

“Excellent news. That should come in handy if he gets in a fight.” Gaius laughed at his own joke and Merlin rolled his eyes. 

They chatted for a while about other things—new teachers and coursework for the following year—and Merlin finally wrested Gaius’s location from him. He was spending the month in Tahiti, probably sipping a Mai Tai while they spoke. Try as he might to muster jealousy, Merlin couldn’t. The little pub where he sat nursing his own beverage of choice was cosy, and though a few people looked at him like the stranger he was, he found it pleasant to be away from the manor for the afternoon. It had been gorgeous and sunny that morning, the perfect day for a walk, but the clouds had rolled in as Merlin arrived in town and now it was pouring a steady stream of rain that promised to soak him on the way home. Maybe he should have taken the change in weather for a sign. Just then, Gaius asked about Arthur. 

Merlin drank deeply from his glass. “What about him?”

“How are you two getting on?” 

“Tolerably.” 

Gaius chuckled. “Is he being difficult?”

Merlin took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. It was ridiculous to get so worked up over simply talking about a person. Ridiculous. “He’s committed, I’ll give him that. He’s actually been joining in our lessons.” He didn’t trust himself to say more, so he took another gulp of beer.

“I thought for sure you two would hit it off.” 

“Gaius, I hope you’re not trying to play matchmaker.” 

“Who, me?” The innocent tone gave him away. Merlin gazed at his empty glass, trying to think of a way to change the subject without exposing himself. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how in the world did you come to be friends with Uther Pendragon?” From what Merlin had heard from Arthur and deduced from his silences, Uther hadn’t been a great father. His portrait in the family gallery, haughty and cold, flashed before Merlin’s eyes. 

There was a pause on the end of the line. “I was the family physician.” 

“What? You never told me that.” Merlin knew Gaius had trained as a doctor before he’d become a teacher, but he always figured that first profession had never quite gotten off the ground. 

“It isn’t something I like to talk about, Merlin. Very bad business, what happened with Arthur’s mother, Ygraine. She had preeclampsia and I strongly recommended early delivery, but there was a chance the baby wouldn’t have survived, being so premature. I was sacked, she got worse, and she died at delivery. Uther never forgave himself.”

“Or you?” 

“He did, eventually. And there’s always another side to the story; if he had listened, perhaps Arthur wouldn’t have lived. But that’s all water under the bridge, now, my boy.” 

A slight chill ran through Merlin. He shivered and glanced at the door as a man, overcoat wet with rain, came into the pub. “Arthur.” 

“Yes, Arthur is alive, at least.” 

“No, I mean—he’s here. I’ve got to go, Gaius.” 

Merlin watched Arthur look around the small pub until his eyes landed on Merlin. He smiled and Merlin shivered again. Arthur strode over. 

“I thought I might find you here. Can I get you another?” He picked up Merlin’s empty glass. 

“Sure. Cheers.” 

With Arthur at the bar ordering, Merlin had a moment to collect himself. First there was Gaius’s heart-breaking confession, and now Arthur was here looking for him, which meant he must have sought out Ms Smith or Mrs Thomas, the only people who knew Merlin’s intentions for the afternoon. He realised he was shredding the bar mat and dropped it, then gathered the remnants and vanished them. Arthur turned back around, two pints in hand. 

His hair was darker when damp, and in the low light of the pub his eyes were dark, too. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Arthur motioned to the mobile resting on the tabletop. 

“Oh, no, it was just Gaius calling me to check in. He’s in Tahiti if you can believe it, though the last thing I want to imagine is Gaius sunbathing. What a thought.” Merlin took a sip of his pint to stop himself from rambling. 

Arthur laughed a deep chortle, the amount of gusto completely disproportionate to the humour of the statement. Merlin’s stomach swam with tiny, pesky fishes. 

“Where’s Mordred?” he asked to steer the conversation to a safe topic. 

“He and Kara were down feeding the horses when I left.” 

“He must be glad to be out of the house, even in this weather.” 

“You’d think four days was a life sentence.” 

“It is, when you’re thirteen.” 

Arthur licked foam off his top lip. “Well, the cruel and unusual punishment is over now. Hopefully he’s learned his lesson and he’ll behave himself.” 

“Here’s hoping.” Merlin raised his glass, touching it to Arthur’s. He couldn’t stop smiling. Arthur smiled back. And this, this was the reason it was so impossible to stop himself from wanting what he most certainly should not: Arthur’s brilliant smile, so seemingly sincere. It touched his eyes and made them crinkle at the sides. Merlin imagined tracing those little lines with his fingers. 

Arthur broke the connection first. “So you decided to take a five mile walk on the rainiest day of the summer. What goes on in that pea brain of yours, Merlin?” 

“It wasn’t raining when I left.” 

“It’s a good thing I had business in town, then, or you would have gotten soaked.” 

“I don’t mind the rain. It’s warm enough. And are you sure you weren’t following me?” 

“Of course not,” Arthur said, too vehemently.

Merlin was going to push further and inquire about Arthur’s business in town, but his retort died on his tongue. He shouldn’t be flirting with Arthur, not after the other night in his study. It had been painful—almost impossible—to walk away when he had felt the heat of Arthur’s body like an invitation. And yet now Arthur pretended as though nothing happened, and he had to do the same in order to preserve this fragile friendship between them. 

“Right, well,” Merlin said. “I’ll be thankful for the ride. Did George drive you?” 

“Yes, he’s in the car.” 

“I hate to keep him waiting.” 

“It’s what he’s paid for.” Arthur’s voice went unaccountably hard. For a moment he seemed very far away, and Merlin wondered what the world would be like without an Arthur in it. 

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked. 

Arthur’s brow darkened. “I just spoke with Mithian.” 

“Oh?” 

“She called to apologize about the other day. It seems they were out of range, stuck in a hotel with no power during a storm.”

“Not the best way to spend your honeymoon.” 

Arthur snorted. “Or the best way of all.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“Really? I didn’t take you for a virgin, Merlin.” Arthur was teasing him, a glint in his eye. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” His ears felt as though they were on fire. “I’ve never been married to a woman before. Or a man,” he added as a lame afterthought. Oh God, what was he saying?

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

“Marriage? Or marriage to a man?” 

Arthur cocked his head. “Marriage in general. It’s a dismal sort of affair.” 

The statement shouldn’t trouble Merlin; he’d never wanted to be married himself. Most of the examples he’d seen were reason enough not to bother, and whatever had happened between Mithian and Arthur was obviously another case for the prosecution. “Well, don’t worry. I don’t intend to.” 

“You’ll be happier.” 

They stared at each other a moment until the silence grew awkward. Merlin couldn’t help thinking of the man he’d seen Arthur with that afternoon he’d used his Sight, and the memory hit him like a douse of cold water. Since that day he’d made a point not to look for Arthur when he was out of the house, though he’d been tempted. He had no right to be jealous over someone he didn’t even know. Still, it didn’t stop his heart from sinking every time Arthur disappeared somewhere. 

Arthur cleared his throat in a way that made Merlin suspect there was something more on his mind. He’d become disturbingly attuned to the man’s thoughts even without using his magic. “Is there something else?” 

“She wanted to make plans for the end of the summer to pick up Mordred. She misses him.”

“And you don’t want him to go?” Merlin offered.

“Is it so wrong I want him to stay? I just got him back—I’ve just begun to know him for the first time. And now I realize the time I thought we had is slipping through my fingers.” And just like that, Merlin realised the time he had with Arthur was rushing past, too. Had it already been almost a month? He shook off his unease and focused back on Arthur. 

“It’s not wrong of you, not at all. Did you talk to Mithian about it? Or Mordred?” 

“Of course not. It isn’t my place.” 

“It is your place. You’re his father.” 

“I haven’t been. What claim do I have to him? She’s the one who raised him, while I—” Arthur cut himself off abruptly and drained his pint. He looked so miserable Merlin wanted nothing more than to offer a comforting hug, but that wasn’t _his_ place. 

“I know I’m just your employee. But if you ask me, I think you should give this some thought. Be serious about it. And if it’s really what you want, you should talk to Mordred and Mithian. He loves you, Arthur. He might not show it, but he does, and I think he’s old enough to make his own decision about where he wants to live. If he decides he wants to stay here, Mithian will have to compromise. Parents have to share their children. It’s not selfish of you to want your chance.”

“I’m afraid he’ll say no.” 

Merlin didn’t know how to respond; Mordred was contrary by nature, and a negative response wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. In fact, it was likely. He couldn’t imagine being in Arthur’s position and accepting that sort of rejection. It made his stomach twist all over again. 

“Let’s just see then, all right? Maybe you should do something with him—something fun. Take him to the seaside, or maybe to London.” 

“You mean bribe him?” The corners of Arthur’s mouth turned up. 

“It’s called quality time.” 

“Hmm. It’s called a euphemism. What do you suggest?”

“How about doing a bit of sightseeing? The Tower, the Eye, that sort of thing.” 

“That’s not a bad idea, Merlin. You’d think a man of your perceptiveness would have checked the weather forecast.” 

Merlin leaned back in his chair and took a final sip of his pint. He was already fuzzy-headed, and Arthur’s pleased expression wasn’t doing much to clear his mind. “I already told you, I like the rain. Anyway, it’s summer. He should be able to enjoy himself instead of being cooped up in the library with me all the time.” 

“You just want a holiday.” Arthur arched an eyebrow and Merlin flushed. His face heated even more as he realised Arthur thought he was trying to invite himself along.

“No, I didn’t mean—that’s not what I was—” 

“Would you come with us?” 

“Erm. I—” 

Arthur leaned forward. “Say yes.”

The word left Merlin’s mouth before he could stop it. “Yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

“I thought you said you had a flat in London.” 

“This is a flat.” Arthur brushed past Merlin down the hallway. 

“No, it’s not. A flat has one bedroom, maybe two. This is a house.” 

“Flat, house, call it whatever you want,” Arthur said. “And it has four bedrooms, if you must know.” 

“You’re not a normal person.” 

“Whoa,” said Mordred, who’d already gone ahead to investigate. “This TV is huge!” 

Arthur rounded the corner to the living room to find his son staring at the sixty-inch flat screen telly hanging on the wall. 

“It’s . . . nice,” Merlin said from behind him in a knowing tone that Arthur didn’t particularly care for. 

“It suits my needs.” 

“I’ll bet.” He supposed to Merlin the downstairs of his flat, with its leather sectional sofa and fully stocked bar, looked like what it was—a shag pad. He hoped Mordred didn’t make a similar connection. In any case he barely used it anymore; he was hardly in London except for meetings. Not that he had to justify his decorative tastes to Merlin or anyone else. 

“If you don’t like it, you’re free to get your own hotel room, Merlin.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m just taking the piss.” Merlin’s voice had gone soft. 

“So where’s my room?” Mordred asked. 

Arthur nodded and led the way. “We might as well all get settled in first.” 

He gave Mordred the small room at the front of the flat that looked out over the street, figuring his son might find it more interesting. Merlin was assigned the room next door, across from Arthur’s master bedroom. 

When Merlin had first proposed the trip nearly a week before, Arthur had asked him to come along without thinking it through. Now that the prospect of Merlin sleeping across the hall from him was about to become a reality, Arthur found he liked the idea more than was entirely appropriate. He stood watching in the doorway as Merlin unpacked his things—he’d shrunk all of the items in order to fit in his small bag and taught Mordred to do the same. They’d both offered to help Arthur, but he insisted on packing the old-fashioned way.   
Merlin must have noticed him lurking. He closed a drawer with a wave of his hand and turned. “Did you . . . want something?” he asked. His face was flushed as it always was when he performed magic. 

Arthur shook his head and stepped back. “We’ll meet downstairs in an hour.” 

They spent the evening getting dinner at a pub down the street and plotting the next day’s adventures. Mordred pretended not to be interested in doing ‘boring touristy stuff,’ but Kara had said the Eye was cool, so he didn’t object to that. 

“What about the London Dungeons?” Merlin asked. He passed Mordred a brochure. “Could be fun.” 

“This looks stupid.” 

Merlin shrugged and popped a chip into his mouth. 

As the night wore on, they settled on a few attractions, including a couple off the beaten path that were apparently known only to magic users. Mordred even went so far as to express enthusiasm over the Magical Artefacts Museum, much to Merlin’s delight. So long as Mordred was happy, Arthur didn’t care what they did. Or was Merlin’s happiness factoring into his contentment as well? As he watched the two of them bicker, he found his eyes lingering on Merlin’s mouth more often than necessary. Maybe his impulsive invitation would prove more dangerous than he’d anticipated. In just a month and a half, Merlin and Mordred would be gone, back to their own lives, while he went back to his. 

His life. What was it but an endless string of meetings, charity benefits, and social engagements with people he, for the most part, couldn’t stand? He had Gwaine, but even that had proven complicated now. Strange, but it was difficult to remember what life had been like at the manor before the two people sitting across from him had filled it with their chatter and their magic. 

Mordred wouldn’t want to stay, he was certain of it. And Merlin couldn’t, so there was no use wanting him to. Arthur had been careless, letting his guard down, letting himself get attached. 

Those thoughts had put Arthur into a dismal mood by the time they paid the bill. Merlin suggested a walk through Hyde Park before they returned to the flat since it was still light, but Arthur was no longer fit for company. 

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked, concern in his voice as his eyes travelled over Arthur’s face. Arthur looked away. 

“Fine,” he said. He mustered a smile for Mordred. “You two go on and have fun.”

He was in his room catching up with neglected email when he heard them return an hour or so later, Mordred’s laughter cutting through the silence. 

“I still can’t believe you did that!” 

“Did you see the look on his face?” Merlin’s voice. 

Another burst of laughter. “I wish my dad had been there to see it. That was fucking amazing.” 

“Mordred.” A warning tone.

“Sorry. No swearing—unless I’m alone so you can’t hear me.”

“Ha ha.”

Arthur froze in his seat, his heart thumping. Had he heard right? He stood and followed the sound of voices downstairs. He found Mordred lounging on the couch with the telly on. Merlin was making instant popcorn in the microwave. 

“Oh my God,” Mordred said when he noticed Arthur. “You’ll never believe what Merlin did.” 

Arthur half-listened to a story about Merlin transforming the coins in a local busker’s guitar case into gold. By the time Mordred finished, he was out of breath. “And the guy totally freaked out. I thought he was gonna have a heart attack.” 

“He was good.” Merlin shrugged and held the bowl of popcorn out to Arthur. 

“You just thought he was hot.” 

“I did not.” But his ears were red. An irrational sting cut through Arthur’s foggy elation. 

Later, once they’d watched a film and sent Mordred off to bed, Merlin turned to Arthur on the sofa. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight.” 

Not for the first time, Arthur registered how close Merlin sat, only the empty popcorn bowl between them. They were alone. He didn’t have the strength to move away. 

“I’ve just . . . did you hear what he called me?” Upstairs, the toilet flushed—so maybe not as alone as he’d thought. 

“Yeah.” Merlin grinned and his eyes shone. “It’s really great, Arthur.” 

It’s all because of you, Arthur wanted to say, but didn’t. He was sure it was written on his face anyway.

***

The following day they rose early to brave the lines at the Tower, which was overrun with tourists in July. Arthur hadn’t been there since he was a boy—he abhorred crowds, especially when he had to pay to wait in them—but he enjoyed seeing it through Mordred’s eyes. They were rushed through the Crown Jewels and funnelled down a steep staircase. When they got to the chapel of St Peter ad Vincula and heard the story of Anne Boleyn, Mordred yawned.

“I’ve heard all about this at school. Henry the Eighth and his wives, yeah, yeah.” 

“We’re actually related to Anne Boleyn, you know.” 

“Really?” Mordred’s eyes widened. 

“Yes, on your grandmother’s side.” 

“I guess that’s kind of cool.”

“You people are probably related to everyone,” Merlin whispered loudly. “Inbreeding.” 

“Shut up, Merlin.” 

“Shh!” someone hissed from the front of the crowd. 

Arthur paid for everything even though Merlin grumbled; eventually he stopped protesting, and just sighed in resignation as Arthur handed over his card to confirm their pre-booked private capsule. Merlin’s hands were white-knuckled fists the entire ride. 

“Are you afraid of heights?” Mordred asked him.

“No.” 

“You are.” Mordred laughed. 

Merlin frowned. “It’s not funny.” 

“I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.” 

“I’m not.” For some reason, Merlin looked over at Arthur. 

The day was clear, if a bit hazy, and the view was spectacular. When they reached the very top they could see for miles, the vastness of the city spread out before them, from the Houses of Parliament on the Thames to the very furthest reaches and beyond.

“Wow, this is really cool.” Mordred was snapping pictures with his newly purchased mobile. “Kara was right. Why have you never taken me here before?”

Arthur’s chest twinged. “We did. Once, when you were very small. You don’t remember?” 

“No.” 

“Your mother and I took you. You cried the whole time.” Mordred had only been about three or four; he had loved the idea of the huge Ferris wheel until they were high in the sky, when he’d clung to Arthur and refused to look. The rest of the people in the capsule hadn’t been very pleased, to say the least. 

“Huh. I don’t remember.” 

“You probably don’t remember much about England, do you?” 

Mordred shrugged. “I remember some things, like the rocking horse I had in my room.” 

“I still have that,” Arthur said with a laugh, “if you want it back.” 

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Mordred rolled his eyes and went back to taking pictures.

After a late lunch, it was Merlin’s turn to play tour guide. He led them down a narrow cobblestone alleyway that looked like something straight out of a Dickens novel. When they reached a dead end and Arthur was sure they’d made a wrong turn somewhere, Merlin turned to face a brick wall. His eyes glowed. Mordred and Arthur both gasped as a doorway appeared, barely visible against the crumbling facade. Merlin whispered some sort of command, and the door swung open. But instead of being confronted with a musky, dank tunnel, as Arthur expected, he was surprised to follow Merlin into an airy room filled with people. It reminded him of the lobby at the British Museum. 

Mordred elbowed Arthur. “Holy crap. Magic is awesome.” Arthur couldn’t object, nor could he tear his eyes away from where Merlin stood talking to the woman at the admission counter.

“Three please,” Merlin said. 

“Day or week passes?” she asked.

“Day.” 

Before Arthur could stop him, Merlin had paid the fare and was beckoning them to follow. 

Arthur had seen magic performed, but he’d never been so surrounded by it. His body hummed with electricity, whether it came from inside him or from the museum itself, he didn’t know. Mordred seemed equally amazed. His eyes darted from exhibit to exhibit, wide as saucers. All around them, sorcerers mulled and chatted. Some of them were dressed as ordinarily as themselves, while others wore colourful robes and hats that Arthur would privately describe as ridiculous. A tray of champagne flutes floated by, offering itself to Merlin and Arthur, who both declined. Arthur heard a couple speaking Arabic, another two men Italian, as they studied a small golden lamp. _Aladdin’s_ lamp.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Arthur said. 

Merlin grinned and grabbed his arm. “Nope.” 

Room after room opened up before them, filled with treasures Arthur wasn’t even sure he believed in after seeing with his own eyes. Thor’s hammer. The Golden Fleece. And through it all there was Merlin, beaming with pride as he led them on. Arthur pinched himself to see if he was dreaming—on several occasions. 

“And this,” Merlin said as they entered another room, “is one of my favourites.” 

A decorative carpet hung suspended in a glass case. It rippled slightly as they approached; spun of golden and green silk, it seemed to glow from within. 

“What is it?” Mordred asked, pressing his nose against the glass. 

“Magic Carpet, of course.” 

The object in question seemed to respond to Mordred’s presence; it mirrored his movement. 

“It seems like . . . it wants to get out.”

Merlin put a hand on Mordred’s shoulder. “It does. But in the wrong hands, it could be dangerous. That’s the reason all of these things are here instead of out in the world.” 

“Oh.” 

“And it’s the reason they have to be kept secret, Mordred. You can’t tell anyone, even Kara.” 

“Ha,” Mordred said. “Like she’d believed me.”

During the exchange Arthur had moved closer. He put his hand against the glass; a thrill ran through him when the carpet responded to his touch. He wanted ask Merlin why it was okay for him, a man without magic, to be here. 

“It likes you,” a melodious voice to his left said. Arthur turned to confront a middle-aged man of medium height and build, attractive in a very posh, tailored sort of way. He had salt and pepper hair and brown eyes that weren’t quite friendly, and a divot in his chin. 

“Alistair.” Merlin almost gasped the word. His face had gone a shade paler.

“Merlin. So good to see you.” The man stepped closer and extended his hand. “It’s been too long.” 

“Yeah,” Merlin replied. “What are you doing here?” 

The man chuckled. “I work here.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know you weren’t teaching anymore.” 

“Not since Peter left.” 

“I didn’t know you’d broken up.” 

“Last year.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

The man laughed as though Merlin had told a great joke. “I’m certainly not.” 

Merlin just stared. 

Arthur had never seen Merlin at such a loss for words. He was beginning to put two and two together and wasn’t sure he liked what the connected pieces conveyed. 

“Merlin,” the man said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” He enunciated the last word and extended his hand. “Alistair Muldoon.” 

“Arthur Pendragon.” 

“Ah,” he said, smiling a little too widely. “I thought you looked familiar. I used to follow your club. Not playing anymore?” 

Arthur hadn’t played Polo in over six years. “No.” 

“Hmm, a pity. You had quite a lovely pony. What was her name again?”

“Avalon.” He didn’t like to think of the horse he’d had to put down once she’d broken her foreleg in a nasty fall, which he’d—luckily enough—walked away from unharmed. 

“Hmm.” Alastair tisked. “Such a tragedy. Well, welcome to our little exhibit.” He gestured around in a show of ownership. “I’m sure Merlin has informed you of our policy of discretion.”

“He’s from a magical line.” Merlin stepped forward as if out of a daze. “This is his son, Mordred.” 

“Hello there, young man.” 

“Hello,” Mordred said. His eyes narrowed. 

When Mordred didn’t take Alistair’s extended hand, the man began to fiddle with the buttons on his suit jacket.

“How long are you in town?” he asked Merlin. 

“Just until tomorrow.” 

“Splendid,” Alistair said. “We must have a drink and catch up. Don’t say no.” His voice went smooth as velvet; he took a step towards Merlin. “Your friend can of course come along.” Again the emphasis on friend, a veiled attempt to discern the true nature of Merlin and Arthur’s relationship, perhaps? 

A protest built in Arthur’s throat. In no way was this acceptable. They had plans for the evening, or they would soon. He stood waiting for Merlin to say no, and so was very unprepared to hear, “But what about Mordred?” 

“I can stay alone for a few hours. God, I’m not a baby.” Mordred crossed his arms and went back to examining the carpet. Arthur didn’t blame him, but he was rooted to the spot, willing Merlin to say no to this man. Merlin, however, seemed unable to decide what to do. 

“Just one drink,” he said finally. “Arthur?” 

“You go along. I’ll stay with Mordred.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say at all. He most certainly didn’t want Merlin to go out for drinks with this man, but a bitter, angry spite rose up in him. Merlin was free to do as he chose, and if he chose Alistair, well, he could have him. 

Merlin still hesitated. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. You deserve a little time off. Why don’t you catch up with your friend.” Now it was Arthur’s turn to emphasise the word. It had the intended effect. Merlin’s face grew paler, but Alistair grinned. 

“Excellent,” the man said, caressing Merlin’s arm. “Where should I call to collect you?” 

Merlin gave out the address to the flat, and Arthur turned away so he didn’t have to hear their plans or see Alistair touching Merlin. He joined Mordred at the Magic Carpet case, but now the object which had dazzled him minutes earlier seemed nothing more than a piece of old, worn fabric. 

“I don’t like that guy,” Mordred said. 

“Me neither, son.” Arthur put his arm around Mordred’s shoulders. “Me neither.”


	10. Chapter 10

Merlin tried to keep his hand steady as he dragged the razor across his skin. In only a few minutes, Alistair would be here to pick him up for a drink—or a date? He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d agreed to. Arthur and Mordred were downstairs eating takeaway with the telly on, but Merlin hadn’t been able to touch a bite. Arthur had barely spoken a word to him since the Museum, aside from the obligatory question or answer, and yet he appeared blasé, smiling and laughing with Mordred as Merlin squirmed. The tension had become so unbearable, Merlin excused himself to take a shower and get ready.

He rinsed the razor a final time and splashed warm water on his face, then dried his skin and reached for the aftershave. _What are you doing?_ His reflection didn’t offer an answer, just evidence that he’d nicked himself, a tiny blossom of blood emerging to the right of his Adam’s apple. He stopped the wound with a bit of loo roll and sighed. So much for caution. 

Seeing Alistair after so many years had been shocking, being so unexpected, and it had taken him a moment to get his bearings, but after the initial adrenaline rush had worn off, Merlin had found himself curiously unmoved. 

Why _had_ he accepted Alistair’s invitation? 

He didn’t have to think long to know the answer was downstairs eating mild Chicken Korma, no onions. 

It was this whole bloody trip, one confusing moment after another from the instant Arthur had suggested it. The three of them acting like a _family_ had addled his brain. The way Arthur had looked at him with awe at the museum, and the previous night on the couch—Arthur’s stupid, beautiful face so unguarded. He hadn’t tried to kiss Merlin, but that didn’t mean Merlin hadn’t seen the desire there, just as plain as it had been the night in the library. But that didn’t mean anything—Merlin was certain Arthur had shagged lots of men in this flat. What was one more? And then there was the promise Merlin had made to Mordred about staying away from Arthur. Merlin didn’t want anything to jeopardise Mordred’s progress, and he suspected Arthur felt the same. Fuck, he didn’t know what Arthur felt. Arthur was a prat who’d practically thrown Merlin at Alistair and then proceeded to act like a jealous arse. Arthur had his own secret, dark-haired man, anyway. 

Merlin needed some time to get his head clear, but he had none—as soon as he’d finished dressing, the doorbell rang. He buttoned the last hole of his shirt, removed the scrap of paper from his cut, and went downstairs. 

Alistair and Arthur stood in the hallway, facing off like two lions protecting their pride. Merlin had to admit Arthur was the more impressive with his golden hair mussed from a day in the sun and wind. They both turned when he approached. Arthur frowned. 

“Merlin,” Alistair said, stepping forward. “How handsome you look.” He had changed out of his more formal work attire and wore a collared shirt and tailored trousers. 

Merlin blushed under the weight of their combined stares. “Thanks. Erm. I’m ready to go.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Arthur?” Alistair’s voice was anything but welcoming. 

“No, thank you.” Arthur said. “Have a nice night.” It was so cold, so final. Arthur’s impassive stare matched his tone. 

“Goodnight,” Merlin said. His mouth was dry as cotton. What had he expected, for Arthur to demand he not go? 

Alistair had a cab idling for them on the curb. Merlin followed him out into the warm night. Somehow he managed to stop himself from looking over his shoulder to see if Arthur was watching. 

“Have you eaten?” Alistair asked after he’d given the driver an address. 

“Not really,” Merlin said. He shifted in his seat.

“Excellent, I’ve made a reservation.” 

“I thought we were just having a drink.” 

Alistair smiled, an expression that had once hypnotised Merlin. “If you like. But I haven’t seen you in so long, and if you haven’t eaten . . .”

Merlin shrugged, not bothering to mention he wasn’t hungry. It didn’t matter anyway. Arthur was already annoyed with him, so he might as well stay out as long as possible. 

They passed the ride with idle chatter, Alistair doing most of the talking. He spoke about his life in London, the fine art he’d begun collecting, his job at the museum. Had he always been like this—so self-involved, barely pausing to let Merlin get a word in edgewise? Or had Merlin just been too young and naïve to recognise it before? 

He was still handsome, even at forty-five, his hair with perhaps a bit more grey than Merlin remembered. His casual, careless gestures still projected a sensuality that had once mesmerised Merlin. But the awe Merlin had once felt was gone. 

For a long time after they’d broken up, Merlin had created elaborate scenarios about what he’d do if he ever saw Alistair again. He’d conjured ways to make him jealous, fantasized about ignoring him to drive him insane, seducing his new lover away from him—but he’d never expected to feel indifferent. It was entirely freeing. The tension began to seep out of his body, and as the taxi pulled to a stop, Merlin thought he might even have a good time. 

The restaurant was a dimly lit wine bar serving light meals, Merlin noted as the host led them to a corner table. Merlin let Alistair order the wine, some ridiculously expensive Italian vintage. When the waiter brought the bottle and poured, Merlin suppressed a laugh as Alistair swirled the wine in his glass and sniffed deeply, then sipped. It was a performance he’d once thought very sophisticated. 

He took his own wine and drank. “So,” he said, “I hope you don’t think this is a date.” 

Alistair didn’t miss a beat. “Of course not. We’re just two old friends catching up.” 

“Good.” 

“Do you like the wine?”

“It’s nice.” Merlin shrugged. He couldn’t really discern the difference between red wines. 

Alistair smiled indulgently. Then he appeared to grow thoughtful. “You’re so different than I remember. My word, what’s it been, four years?” 

“Five.” 

“You’ve heard me blather on about my life, but what of yours? The last I’d heard you’d started teaching at the Edinburgh Academy.” 

Merlin frowned. “How did you—”

“I confess I’ve always listened for news of you. I would justify it as the interest of a professor in his former protégé, but we both know that’s not entirely true.” 

The waiter returned and set a wooden board of thinly sliced meat, various cheeses, and olives on the table. Merlin stared at it. 

“I know this isn’t a date, Merlin. But when I saw you today everything came back, all those old feelings. You didn’t have the same reaction, I see.” 

“No.” 

“Is it because of Arthur Pendragon?” 

“That’s really none of your business.” Merlin tried to keep his tone even. 

“Of course. Forgive me. Would you like some prosciutto?” 

Merlin put together a small plate and accepted more wine. All around them, tables were filled with couples enjoying their Saturday evening. It made Merlin long to be back at the flat with Arthur watching telly. 

After that, however, conversation turned to other topics and Merlin’s mood lightened a bit. Perhaps it had something to do with the wine; already they’d finished the first bottle and Alistair had ordered a second. Merlin found himself talking about his life in Edinburgh, even missing it—he’d been so caught up in Arthur and Mordred he’d forgotten how much he loved his school. 

Alistair leaned forward and listened without interrupting. He seemed to take honest pleasure in hearing what Merlin had to say, and Merlin found himself re-evaluating his early assessment.

“I’m sure you’re a wonderful teacher,” Alistair said. “I’m very proud of you, even if I have no right to be.” 

There was no denying his love for Alistair had influenced his choice of career, at least initially. Merlin silently thanked the dim lighting as his ears burned. 

“It’s good to see you’ve done so well for yourself.” Alistair poured the final bit of wine into his own glass after Merlin demurred. “I treated you very badly. I’m very ashamed of it. I’m . . . sorry.” 

Merlin had waited so long to hear those words, their effect on his alcohol-fuzzy brain was complicated. He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

“It does. I hope you’re happy.” 

The restaurant began to clear out as closing time neared. Alistair paid the bill and they rose to leave. Outside it had started drizzling, so they quickly hailed a cab and climbed in. Alistair looked at him, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then he supplied the driver with Arthur’s address. 

Neither of them spoke on the way, both lost in their own thoughts. When they arrived in front of the flat, Merlin turned to Alistair. “Thanks for the dinner,” he said. 

Alistair smiled ruefully. “And now you’re off again, out of my life.” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“I suppose it would be too much to ask for a kiss goodbye. For old time’s sake.” 

Merlin leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss against Alistair’s lips. There was nothing, no spark of connection. It was like kissing a stranger. He pulled back and smiled. “Goodbye, Alistair.” 

“Goodbye.” 

Merlin’s feet dragged on the stairs to the flat. After the emotionally draining day, he craved his bed and the comforting oblivion of sleep. He dropped the key Arthur had given him and fumbled for it on the ground, cursing. Once inside, he toed off his shoes, trying his best to be quiet so as not to wake the house. He went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water before heading to bed. 

On his way back past the living room, a voice came out of the dark. 

“Did you have a nice time?” 

Merlin startled, nearly dropping his drink. In the dim light filtering in from the street, he could barely make out Arthur’s form on the sofa.

“Shit! You scared the piss out of me.” 

“Sorry.” Arthur rose, staggering a bit. He was holding a glass. Merlin could smell whisky. “Didn’t mean to _scare_ you.” 

Arthur approached him. Now that Merlin’s eyes had adjusted, he saw that Arthur was wearing his sleeping clothes, soft pyjama bottoms and a white tee shirt. He drained the glass and set it on the bar, then took Merlin’s from him and did the same. 

“You’re rat-arsed, Pendragon. That’s water, you know.”

“You didn’t answer me. Did you have a nice time on your _date_?” 

Arthur leaned forward, switching their positions so that Merlin was backed against the bar, trapped between Arthur’s arms. Merlin’s heart hammered with lust and fear. 

“It wasn’t a date.” 

“But you kissed him.” 

“I didn’t—” But he had. “It wasn’t a real kiss.” 

“I knew it.” 

“Arthur.” Arthur’s warmth was everywhere, surrounding him. His breath smelled of caramel and peat. 

“You shouldn’t be kissing anyone but me, Merlin.” 

As Arthur spoke, he pressed closer so that their bodies united. Merlin automatically wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist. He felt the solid muscle and swell of Arthur’s arse and the hard press of his erection through his cotton bottoms. His own cock responded instantly. 

“Oh fuck, do you think we really—”

“Yes.” Arthur almost hissed the word, his breath hot against Merlin’s skin. 

Merlin gasped when Arthur’s mouth crashed against his, mind going blank. Arthur’s lips were cool and wet with the water he’d drunk, soft and hard and then soft again. He bit at Merlin’s top lip and Merlin opened his mouth to slide their tongues together. Arthur responded with a delightful sound as they angled to get closer. 

It was a different universe from the kiss in the car. In fact, Merlin couldn’t remember any kiss ever feeling so good. His lips tingled. Every time he parted from Arthur, he drove back against him again, biting and licking into his mouth, worried that they’d come to their senses and it would be over. 

Arthur was just as eager. He raked his fingers against Merlin’s scalp and touched him all over with greedy hands. Merlin was sure his brain was melting. It was too hot too quickly. It wasn’t enough. Arthur’s lips abandoned his and went on to kiss his neck. They dragged lower to his collarbone and Merlin let his head fall back, only to find it cradled in Arthur’s hands. Arthur’s warm tongue seared his skin like a brand. The thought of Arthur tasting him made his cock throb.

Their mouths sought one another again, and this time the kiss was deeper, lingering. Arthur slid his hands under Merlin’s shirt and ground their hips together. 

“What is this, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice was raw. 

Merlin ached in his jeans. He pressed one of Arthur’s hands against his erection. 

A second later he was being lifted onto the bar. Arthur unbuttoned his shirt, licking and kissing the skin he unveiled, and Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur’s soft hair. He’d already decided he was going to let himself have this, consequences be damned. When a hot mouth sucked his nipple, though, he nearly lost his balance. His arms flailed out and sent the glasses crashing to the floor. 

A deafening silence followed. 

“Arthur? Merlin?” Mordred’s feet appeared at the top of the stairs. “Is that you guys?”

“Shit.” Arthur whispered. He stepped away, breathing raggedly. “It’s nothing,” he called over his shoulder. “Merlin just dropped a glass, the clumsy arse.” 

“Hey.” Merlin protested. He was woozy with adrenaline from being interrupted, but somehow he managed to get himself re-buttoned and off the counter. Just in time, too. Mordred joined them a second later, flooding the room with light. Merlin crouched down to pick up the glass and hide his vulnerable state, and Arthur did the same. 

“Sorry I woke you,” Merlin said. He hoped his face wasn’t flushed, or if it was, that Mordred attributed it to embarrassment. 

“S’all right. I can’t sleep anyway. Hey, why don’t you just use your magic?” 

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a look. 

“I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking.” Merlin stood up, thankful his obvious arousal had faded, though it had left a dull ache in his balls. With a nod of his head, he cleaned the mess. 

Arthur seemed to be having a little more difficulty. He was still kneeling on the floor, facing away from Mordred. His jogging bottoms did nothing to hide his predicament. “I think you missed a few pieces,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Right. Well, you . . . work on that,” Merlin said. “Mordred, let’s go watch some telly.” 

“Is it just me, or is my dad being weird?” Mordred asked once they’d settled on the sofa. Merlin shrugged at the little cock-blocker and flipped through the channels. He touched his lips and shivered at how sensitive they were from being roughly kissed. 

He’d hoped that Arthur would join them and wait for Mordred to get tired again so they could pick up where they’d left off, but a few minutes later he popped his head in to say goodnight. Then he was gone without so much as another glance in Merlin’s direction. 

“He is acting really weird,” Mordred said. 

“I think he’s just tired.” Merlin’s temples throbbed with the beginning of a wine headache.

“Hmm. So how was your date?” 

“It wasn’t a date. And it was fine, though as my _student_ , it’s none of your business.” 

“Sorry, you just don’t seem like my teacher sometimes. You’re more like a friend.” 

Merlin sighed. This trip had certainly done a good job of erasing all the boundaries he’d worked to establish. 

“Well, I’m glad you had a good time,” Mordred continued. He grabbed the remote. “I thought my dad was going to flip out on him for a minute. I really don’t think he liked that guy. I mean, he seemed a little, you know, weird and old for you, but whatever, like you said it’s none of my business.” 

Merlin looked at Mordred out of the corner of his eye, but he appeared engrossed in the program he’d landed on, some late-night cartoon for adults. 

“Give me that.” Merlin tried to snatch the remote back. “This is too weird and old for you.” 

“I watch this show all the time at home. Mum lets me.” 

“Well, you can wait to watch there, then.” 

“You’re no fun.” 

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest and relented. He wished he were upstairs in bed with Arthur.


	11. Chapter 11

It was worse than being a bloody teenager. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much trouble getting himself under control. Not even Mordred’s appearance had done the trick. Once safely in his bedroom, Arthur locked the door behind him and fell onto the bed, then gave in and squeezed his hard cock through his jogging bottoms. It throbbed with the beat of his pulse, letting him know it wasn’t going anywhere, not with Merlin downstairs. Merlin, who was probably thinking God knows what about Arthur’s sudden departure. 

He closed his eyes. He could still feel the ridge of Merlin’s erection pushing against his thigh. And if they hadn’t been interrupted, he’d be inside of Merlin right now, fucking him hard and fast. Or maybe Merlin would be fucking him leisurely over the bar . . . 

His cock ached, balls heavy and full. He palmed himself again and then pulled down the waist of his bottoms so the elastic snugged under his sack. It wouldn’t take long to come. He gave the shaft one slow, full stroke to draw out the pleasure. When he pushed back his foreskin, the tip of his cock was so sensitive and wet with arousal it almost hurt, so he reached for the lubricant he kept in the bedside table drawer. 

He returned a slick a hand to his cock. It had been a long time since he’d had a leisurely wank; he usually settled for a quick toss during his morning shower. A slow tease never failed to remind him of his public school days where wanking happened under the cover of night, fuelled by teenage desire and the thrill and fear of getting caught. Nights filled with boys in their bunks, doing a shoddy job of muffling their noises. You either had to be very, very fast, or very slow. Funny, and somehow appropriate, he should recall it now. 

He’d had a roommate in ninth year who was bent like him, though of course Arthur never dared expose himself. Yet sometimes at night he’d hear the telltale sound of skin on skin and John’s heavy breathing, and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from doing the same. And then that night—that one night at the end of term—when John had slipped into his bed and their arms had jostled together. They didn’t speak about it, but Arthur had never forgotten that first glimpse of another boy’s hard prick, the sharp smell of his come—it had haunted him during those long years of self-denial. 

Sometimes he thought maybe he’d never got over the shame of it. 

As he stroked himself, he tried to recreate the feel of Merlin’s tongue against his and remember how he’d tasted. He willed Merlin up the stairs and into the room, imagined how Merlin would react if he found Arthur like this. Surely Merlin didn’t need magic to see how much Arthur needed him. 

Maybe he was drunk after all. He was still alone. 

The slow rhythm he set wasn’t enough to get him to peak, and so he quickened his wrist and squeezed his balls with his free hand. Merlin’s name was on the tip of his tongue. He bit his lip to keep from groaning as he started to shoot, hastily pulling up his shirt so the mess would land on his belly. 

Once the high of his orgasm had faded and he’d cleaned himself off, Arthur stared at the dark ceiling. His hand was a poor substitute for Merlin. In the distance he heard the telly blaring. He tried not to think about what could have been because it was impossible now, but it was difficult to banish thoughts of Merlin from his mind. 

Eventually—mercifully—sleep claimed him. 

The next morning he woke up with a hangover that made him wish he could stay in bed for the rest of the day—but the smell of breakfast coming from downstairs made his stomach growl. It was enough to get him on his feet and into the shower. 

Just as he turned on the hot water, it all rushed back to him in a blur—bloody buggering hell. _Merlin._

After Merlin had left with Alistair, Arthur’s mood had grown darker as the night wore on. He’d been lousy company for Mordred, who gave up and went to his room to talk to Kara after dinner, leaving Arthur to his bottle of whisky. Hours passed, far longer than necessary for just one drink, and Arthur drove himself mad imagining Merlin and Alistair together. Night had fallen and he hadn’t even bothered turning on the lights. He’d been a fool to let Merlin go and now it was too late. Watching Merlin kiss Alistair in the cab only confirmed it.

But it hadn’t been too late, because even after all of that, Merlin had wanted him. 

Arthur took a deep breath and scrubbed away the patch of dried come on his chest, an inelegant reminder of his midnight wank. Yet the hot shower didn’t do much to relieve the harsh edge of his hangover. He had no idea how things would be between them today. They’d both been drunk, and then there was the complicating factor of Mordred—it would be nearly impossible to get Merlin alone to talk. 

When he entered the kitchen a short while later, he found Merlin and Mordred facing the stove with their backs to him. Arthur watched as kitchen utensils whizzed through the air. An invisible hand whisked a bowl full of batter, and a carton of juice poured itself into three glasses. Eggs fried, flipped with a flick of his son’s wrist. All the while, Merlin was giving Mordred instructions and correcting his mistakes with practiced ease.

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/FlippingEggs_zps0a8596e4.jpg.html)

“I didn’t realise you were a chef, too,” Arthur said.

Mordred and Merlin turned, and the bowl with the batter dipped dangerously. 

“Crap!” Mordred said. “That was a close one.” 

“Watch it.” Merlin paused, watching as Mordred regained control of the situation. When he was seemingly satisfied, he turned again to Arthur, who thought he detected a slight blush on Merlin’s cheeks. He looked handsome and rested, and Arthur couldn’t resist moving closer. One thing was for certain: Arthur didn’t regret the night before, even if Merlin did. 

“Good morning,” Arthur said. 

“Morning.” 

“Teaching him how to cook?” 

“No, teaching him to drive.” Merlin gave him a cheeky, tentative smile. 

“It’s too early for sarcasm, Merlin.” 

“Is it? Didn’t you sleep well?” 

Arthur fought the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. “I’ve slept better.” 

The pan on the stove sizzled as Mordred added the pancake batter. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Perfectly round.” 

Merlin nodded. “Just don’t forget to flip it when it starts to bubble.” 

“I got it, I got it.” 

They worked so well together, Arthur thought. Not for the first time, he wondered how Merlin did it, whether it was just his natural personality to be so even-tempered and patient or if it was something he’d learned as a teacher. 

“Are you hung-over?” Merlin asked, quiet enough so Mordred wouldn’t hear.

“A little.” It was quite the understatement, but better for Merlin not to think he’d been off his head. The pull between them hadn’t dissipated overnight. If anything, Arthur felt an even stronger urge to hold Merlin, kiss the soft skin of his neck. Now that he’d done it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough. 

“Do you want some coffee?” Merlin asked. 

“That would be great, thanks.” 

“I made it!” Mordred said. “And watch.” His eyes flashed gold, and four brown pancakes stacked themselves onto a nearby plate.

All through breakfast, which was admittedly delicious, Arthur couldn’t stop staring at Merlin. There was a faint bruise under the curve of his jaw that Arthur didn’t remember putting there, but must have. His fingers itched to touch it. 

His foot knocked Merlin’s under the small kitchen table, and he stretched his leg out and kept it pressed there against Merlin’s thigh. Merlin gave him a secret smile as Mordred nattered on about some computer game he wanted to buy before they left London later that morning. Arthur murmured his assent, not knowing what he’d agreed to—Mordred could have asked for a trip to China at that moment and Arthur would have said yes.

After breakfast, Mordred disappeared upstairs to pack, and Arthur stayed behind to help Merlin with the dishes. Tension zipped between them until Merlin said his name, unsure. The look on his face made Arthur’s stomach plummet—he could hear the worries running through his head plain as if they’d been spoken. He’d thought them all himself. 

He didn’t hesitate. He just crossed the small room and wrapped Merlin in his arms. “No. It wasn’t a mistake.” 

“But—”

“Don’t.” He kissed Merlin softly, giving him a moment to adjust. Merlin relaxed against him, lips parting. He tasted sweet, like maple syrup.

“What about Mordred?” Merlin asked. 

“He doesn’t have to know, at least not yet. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Their lips brushed against each other again. 

“And your lover?” 

It took a moment for Arthur to figure out what Merlin was talking about, but he could have kicked himself for not remembering sooner. Mordred had seen him and Gwaine that night and had told Merlin, of course. No wonder he was reticent. 

“It’s not serious. He’s a friend. I—we’ve kept each other company, that’s all. I won’t see him again if you—”

A noise from the other room made them spring apart. It was so easy to forget about everything else, Arthur wondered if they’d even be able to keep it a secret. Whatever ‘it’ was. Mordred came in a few seconds later. “Aren’t you guys finished in here yet? The store’s gonna close early because it’s Sunday. We’ve got to go.” 

Right, the promised computer game. Arthur snorted. “Yes, your highness.” 

“I just really want to show Kara. She’s been wanting to play it.” Mordred looked at his feet.

Merlin laughed. “I should have known.”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

By the time they reached Pendragon Manor, it was late afternoon. Arthur had spent the drive thinking about how little he really knew about Merlin. He had so many questions to ask but couldn’t with Mordred in the car.

He’d never been very keen on confiding his own personal history, even to lovers. The closest he’d come to confidence was with Leon, but that had ended badly and left a rather sour taste in his mouth. In turn, he’d never pressed others to do the same. But he found himself greedy with Merlin and wondered for the sake of his own sanity whether it was such a good idea. His jealousy from the previous night still hadn’t entirely faded, even though it had become obvious that whatever Alistair and Merlin had was over. 

As soon as George had parked the car in front of the house, Mordred shot out the door to visit Kara, leaving Merlin and Arthur to bring in their things. Hughes greeted them and gave Arthur a brief report, offering to help with the luggage, but Arthur demurred. He’d spent the entire afternoon trying to keep his hands to himself and his patience was wearing thin. 

“Merlin,” he said, keeping his tone even for the sake of the staff. “I have something to discuss with you, if you wouldn’t mind coming to my rooms after you’ve unpacked. It’s of the utmost importance.” 

“Of course.” Merlin said. He smirked, the arse. “I’ll be right there.” 

Arthur wore a track into his carpet as he paced his bedroom. Maybe Merlin was taking his time on purpose, letting Arthur stew. Soon he began to wonder if Merlin was coming at all—and then there was a knock on the door. It opened a second later and Merlin slipped inside. 

“All of this sneaking around . . . it’s kind of hot.” Merlin chuckled nervously. He locked the door with a flash of golden eyes. 

Arthur frowned at him. “I thought you weren’t coming.” 

“Oh, don’t be cross. I’m sorry, but my mum called and you know how that is. I had to talk to her or she’d have known something was going on.” 

“I don’t know, actually.” 

“Of course not. Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s no matter.” Arthur didn’t want to waste time; who knew when Mordred would return to interrupt them again? Merlin seemed to have a similar idea. He came closer and backed Arthur against the bed with a dark look in his eyes. A tight shiver ran down Arthur’s spine. That was the look of a man who could do incredible things with his power. He wondered if Merlin could bind him with his magic, or if he could use it to fuck. He’d never been with a sorcerer before. 

Maybe the questions were in his eyes. Merlin kissed him and pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him from above. 

“Can’t believe you left me like this last night,” Merlin said. His cock was hard, obvious through his trousers. 

“Yeah, well I was having a bit of a problem myself.”

“I know you were. You went upstairs to take care of it, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Fuck, Arthur.” Merlin dove down for a kiss, rubbing their erections together. Arthur grabbed his arse and pulled him closer. He thrust his tongue into Merlin’s mouth and Merlin moaned. “Knew you were up there getting off drove me crazy.”

“It was all your fault.” 

“You—can we just get naked already?” 

Merlin kissed him again, and this time Arthur rolled them over. He pulled off his own shirt and watched as Merlin followed suit, then leaned down and licked Merlin’s nipple, biting it and sucking it to a peak. It got him the same reaction as it had the night before, only without the glasses crashing to the floor. This time, it was all lovely, just Merlin flushed and arching against his mouth. 

They removed the rest of their clothes as a matter of urgency. Merlin’s cock was long and thick between his slim legs, and Arthur’s mouth watered. He nuzzled the crease of Merlin’s groin and teased him, trailing kisses along his inner thighs and sucking on his balls until his sack tightened. By the time he pressed his lips to the base of Merlin’s cock, Merlin was pulling on Arthur’s hair, the faint golden tinge in his eyes warning Arthur that his magic was barely restrained. Arthur wanted to see him lose control. 

He lifted Merlin’s cock and felt the weight of it in his hands, how hard it was. It was a bit longer than his own, a gorgeous deep red. He gave the head an experimental lick, smiling when Merlin shuddered and thrust his hips.

“Arthur—please.”

“What? Do you want me to do this?” He sucked the tip into his mouth and pressed his tongue against the slit. 

“Yes.” The word came out as a hiss. Arthur smirked and kissed the underside of Merlin’s cock, barely applying any pressure. Merlin whimpered. 

Arthur gave the shaft a full stroke. “Did you want me to do this last night? Did you think about me coming into your room and sucking your cock?”

“Jesus, yes.” 

“Are you sure you want me to now?” 

Merlin groaned. “You utter prat.” 

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you right—”

“Suck my cock, you prat.” 

Merlin stared at him with a pained expression. His cock twitched against Arthur’s lips. Arthur wanted to worship it. He licked his way down to Merlin’s balls and nuzzled there, breathing in the male scent, then teased the soft stretch of skin behind them. Merlin’s cock was leaking now, so Arthur squeezed the base with his hand as he lapped the wetness at the tip. He knew it still wasn’t enough pressure, and Merlin lost his final inhibitions to get more, hitching his hips to drive himself into Arthur’s mouth. 

After that, Arthur took pity on Merlin and swallowed his cock down, opening his throat to let the girth of it inside. He was dully aware of his own arousal, but gave his full attention to working Merlin over, wanting to remember every noise Merlin made and his salty, musky taste.

“Arthur, gonna come.” Hands in his hair were a warning, but Arthur swallowed again as the first burst of come hit his tongue. Merlin thrust up like a man possessed and Arthur took him down to the root, groaning as Merlin pulsed in his mouth. 

When it was over, he teased Merlin with kisses as he softened. Merlin let him, shuddering and dazed, hands playing through Arthur’s hair. His chest felt tight. 

“You’re—wow.”

“Amazing?”

“An insufferable arse. Better come here, then.” Merlin grinned and tugged him so that Arthur was straddling his chest. He looked up at Arthur with dark-eyed expectation. Arthur wrapped his hand around his own erection and gave it a stroke to relieve the ache. He rubbed the head against Merlin’s lips, which parted to accept him.

He’d never seen a more arousing sight.

Pushing his cock into Merlin’s mouth was an exquisite test of self-control. Merlin gripped Arthur’s arse in encouragement and rubbed his tongue along the underside of his cock, teasing the rim of the foreskin. Arthur felt a flutter in his balls as they released a bead of precome. Merlin closed his eyes and swallowed him deeper, like Arthur was something delicious. 

Arthur let Merlin set the pace, guiding his hips. It was difficult to watch without coming, especially when Merlin traced two fingers along the cleft of Arthur’s arse and sought his hole. Arthur writhed back onto Merlin’s fingers as he fucked his mouth. The burn was perfect, just the right amount of roughness and stretch. Merlin smiled around his cock and hummed, and that was it. Arthur took himself in hand and before he could stop it, he was painting Merlin’s open mouth. Still moving his fingers deeply in Arthur’s arse, Merlin swirled his tongue over the head like he wanted to catch every last drop. His mouth was filled with Arthur’s come, and Arthur shuddered against him. The kiss that followed was obscene and perfect. 

He collapsed next to Merlin and waited until his heart stopped pounding to speak.

“So.” 

“So. I don’t think there’s any going back from that.” 

“Do you want to?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“That’s not exactly a vote of confidence, Merlin.” They’d moved during the exchange so that Merlin was propped up on pillows, Arthur’s head resting against his chest. 

“Well, I have to confess I don’t exactly have a great track record with this sort of thing.” 

“And you think I do?” 

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t know what you have in mind. I work for you, after all.” 

Arthur was quiet for a minute while he considered Merlin’s words. The part of him that was cautious and rational told him to take it easy, not make any promises. It was true that Merlin was only here temporarily, and Arthur had just broken his cardinal rule about not sleeping with his staff. He didn’t want anything to jeopardise their working relationship now that Mordred was making so much progress, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine giving this up now that he’d had it. “You think it’s just sex?” 

Merlin sighed. “I’ve been trying not to wind up here, but seems I have.” 

Arthur feigned offense. “You didn’t try very hard, Merlin. Or am I just impossible to resist?” 

“Funny, how do you walk through doors with that giant head on your shoulders?” 

“You didn’t seem to be complaining a few minutes ago.” 

Merlin tickled his ribs. Arthur yelped. There was one spot on his side that he couldn’t bear to have touched, and Merlin found it, attacking him ruthlessly. Arthur responded in kind, tackling Merlin onto his back and reaching for the sensitive juncture of his thigh. Before he knew it, they were kissing again, now naked and entwined. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, Arthur realised something still had to be said. He pulled away, smiling when Merlin murmured in protest. 

“It’s not—for me.” 

Merlin’s brow furrowed, then his eyes widened. “Oh.” 

“It’s polite, when someone says something nice, to say something nice in return.” 

“Well, it’s also polite to articulate yourself so that the person you’re talking to understands what you’re trying to say.” Merlin was teasing, but there was a serious edge to it. Arthur knew better than to poke fun. He had to be an adult. 

It was difficult, especially when Merlin was looking at him with blue eyes that were so assured, and yet so vulnerable at the same time. 

“I don’t want just sex,” Arthur said. “I want to see . . . God, I don’t know. I just want you.” 

Merlin smiled, looking pleased. “I want that, too. But it could be messy. If Mordred gets angry, well, what then?” 

Arthur kissed his nose. “He’ll have to deal. We’re adults and he’s a child.” 

“Look at you, so authoritative.” 

“And anyway, we don’t need to tell him until we figure things out.”

“Okay.” 

“Or until he figures things out.” 

“All right. Let’s give this a try.” 

Arthur kissed Merlin again, arousal flaring again deep in his belly. He would have stayed there all night if not for the fact it was nearing dinner time and Mordred would be home soon. Reluctantly, he pulled away. 

“We should probably get dressed.” 

Merlin nodded. “But maybe a shower first.” 

“Yours or mine?” 

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Have you seen the shower upstairs?” 

“Touché.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hand and led him towards the master bathroom.


	12. Chapter 12

If there was one thing Merlin hadn’t prepared for on his morning walk through the garden hedge maze, it was this. 

He froze in place and tried not to make any noise while casting an invisibility spell and slowly backing away from the sight before him: Mordred and Kara sitting on a stone bench, kissing. Not just a peck on the lips, either, but the sort of sustained, awkward fumbling Merlin recalled from his own teenage years. Once he finally managed to retrace his steps without being detected, he sighed and rolled his eyes. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, but now he faced the choice of whether or not to tell Arthur. 

Of course he would have to; the thought of keeping such a secret from Arthur wasn’t appealing, especially given the way things had changed since London. 

It had happened fast. Maybe too fast for Merlin’s brain to catch up, because he found it hard to breathe every time he forgot and then remembered that he and Arthur were trying things out. That Arthur was his . . . boyfriend? The bloke he was currently shagging? Or almost shagging, since they’d done everything by now but that. 

It had only been a week, he thought as he trekked back to the house. There was no need to label anything. And so what if he wanted to take it slow in the arse-sex department? Since Alistair, he’d been a little gun shy of getting that intimate—and vulnerable—too quickly. It wasn’t like anything was lacking, anyway. Just the night before, Arthur had given him the longest, most incredible blowjob he’d ever had, teasing him like he’d done the first time only this time holding off longer, so that by the time Merlin had finally come he’d nearly begged Arthur to fuck him. Just the memory made his cock twitch in his jeans. 

At least it appeared Arthur was in the same situation. That morning at breakfast they’d almost blown their cover, smiling like idiots at each other, brushing their hands together as they passed the milk. Even now, Merlin’s cheeks hurt from grinning so much. 

Who was he kidding? Emotionally, he was already in way over his head. 

He didn’t get a chance to speak with Arthur privately until after dinner, once Mordred had gone upstairs to his rooms. The afternoon’s lessons had been particularly hard to get through after what he’d seen. He didn’t want to embarrass Mordred, but someone should speak with him—someone like his father. 

Arthur looked like he’d just been doused with a bucket of ice water. He leaned back in his chair. “They’re too young for that stuff.” 

“Mordred will be fourteen in a couple of months, yeah? What were you doing when you were fourteen?” 

“Trying not to look at blokes in the shower.” 

“Hey, me too. I failed, miserably.” Merlin wrapped his legs around Arthur from where he perched on the edge of the study desk. “Another thing we have in common.” 

“But . . . is it okay?” 

“It’s not unusual for their age. But I’m of the mind that whatever is going on should definitely end with kissing. And maybe the odd over-the-clothes grope.”

“Merlin!” Arthur let out a shocked noise. 

“Sorry, but I’m just being realistic. You should probably talk to him.” 

“You mean a . . . sex talk.” The fact that Arthur whispered the last two words made Merlin snort. 

“Yes, a sex talk, you idiot.” 

“Oh God, I can’t.” 

“Don’t get all British about it, all right? Just ease into it.” 

“And how would you suggest I do that?” 

“Just start by asking him how things are going with Kara; maybe he’ll even want advice. And then you can broach the subject. Stress how important it is to wait until he’s ready—and that he is certainly not—but to be safe when he is. Still, at this age, he should know how to get and use protection.” 

“I’m _not_ giving him protection!” 

“Arthur, abstinence-only education doesn’t work. If you want him to be safe, you’ve got to make sure he knows how to be. It doesn’t mean you’re condoning it. It’s called responsible parenting. He needs to know he can come to you. That is, unless you want to be the world’s hottest granddad by the time you’re thirty-six.” 

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” 

He did look a little green about the gills. Merlin slid his legs more firmly around Arthur and drew him closer. “If it makes you feel any better, I always tell my pupils that if they’re too embarrassed to buy condoms, they’re too young to use them.” 

“I’m still embarrassed to buy condoms. Does that mean I’m too young?” 

“I don’t know, Gramps, are you?” 

Arthur smirked up at him and, just like that, the atmosphere in the room changed. It was impossible to concentrate on a serious conversation when the fittest man you’d ever slept with was running his hands up your inner thighs, Merlin decided. He held his breath as he was gathered onto Arthur’s lap. It was a bit of an awkward fit on the leather office chair, but Merlin did his best to arrange his limbs, facing Arthur to straddle him. The fact Arthur’s cock was already hard short-circuited Merlin’s brain and made his own groin throb. 

“I can’t imagine you buying your own condoms,” Merlin said, close to Arthur’s ear, before catching the lobe between his lips.

“Do you think I send Hughes?” 

“I think you send George.” 

“You think too much.” 

Arthur crushed him close as their mouths met, tongues sliding together. It didn’t take long before they were slipping hands under garments, Arthur’s hot palms riding along his spine. Merlin was about to say ‘fuck it’ and suggest going upstairs when a buzzing sound distracted him. Arthur’s mobile jumped on the desk. 

“Oh sod _off_.” Arthur groaned against his mouth. 

“Are you gonna answer that?” Merlin asked as the phone began another cycle. He’d already begun disentangling himself, adjusting his erection in the process. 

Arthur brought the phone to his ear without so much as checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” he asked, impatient. 

A couple of things became very clear as Merlin overheard the subsequent conversation: one, he should not be listening, because the man on the other line was clearly Arthur’s other lover—or former lover—and he was saying things that made Arthur flush crimson. Two, Merlin was a jealous bastard, and if that man so much as tried to touch Arthur again he’d have a hard time not stringing him up by the bollocks. 

He idled by the window, exiled, as Arthur wrapped up his conversation with an innocent, “Yes, that sounds all right. I’ll see you then.” 

Once he’d tossed the phone back onto the desk, Arthur crossed the room in a couple of long strides. “That was Gwaine. I’m sorry, but I haven’t spoken with him since—”

“You don’t have to explain to me.” Merlin stiffened away from the embrace.

“I obviously do, you bloody idiot. There’s nothing between us, I promise. Not anymore. But I think I should probably go tomorrow and speak with him in person, now that he’s back. He’s my oldest friend, Merlin.” 

Merlin couldn’t fight off the cold pressure squeezing his heart. In his rational mind, he knew what Arthur was telling him was the truth—everything about Arthur indicated honesty, from his worried eyes to the softness of his smile—but he couldn’t get that vision out of his mind. Arthur fucking Gwaine with his head thrown back, mouth slack in ecstasy. His gut ached as if a dagger had been lodged deep within it. 

“Merlin, don’t you believe me?”

A hand reached out, tentatively, and touched his jaw. It brought Merlin back to himself. “I do. I just . . . I should tell you something.”

He sighed and then proceeded to relate the truth of his Sight, how he’d looked for Arthur early during his stay at the Manor and had found him with Gwaine. He didn’t get into the details, but he made it clear what he’d seen. Though Arthur frowned slightly, he didn’t say anything right away. His eyes were hard to read. 

“You were spying on me?”

“I was worried because you were so late coming home, and there had been that fight with Mordred. But, yeah, sort of.” 

“I wish you hadn’t seen that.” 

“I’m sorry. I haven’t done it again since then and I won’t, I swear.” 

Now it was Merlin’s turn to worry. People didn’t like knowing that another could invade their every intimate moment. And that trust, once lost, was hard to get back. 

“Okay,” Arthur finally said. “And I promise, sure as I’m standing here, that you’re the only one I want. You’ve driven me mad from the instant we met. How is it with your Sight, you can’t see that?” 

It wasn’t the first time Arthur had made such an assertion, but this time it seemed different. More real. Merlin didn’t know if it was because of how close they were standing together, or the intensity of the past week, but somewhere in the back of his mind, his final wall of resistance crumbled away. Arthur pressed his lips against Merlin’s neck.

“Arthur—” Merlin’s heart thudded against his ribs.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any of those condoms or should we send George to Tesco?” 

“There is no Tesco. But yeah, I do. Will you let me fuck you, Merlin?” The question was asked with a hot gust of breath against his ear.

“Fuck, yes.” 

The rest of the house was empty save for the kitchen staff prepping for the next day’s meals, so it was easy to slip upstairs to Arthur’s rooms without being detected. Mordred was probably still awake, though, so they would have to be quiet. 

They were naked instantly thanks to a quick nod of Merlin’s head, clothes folded neatly on a chair next to the bed. Arthur gasped. 

Merlin grinned. He loved surprising Arthur with his magic. “Sorry, couldn’t wait.” 

“Don’t apologise. That was hot.” 

Arthur pushed Merlin down onto the bed and covered him with his strong body, sliding his cock against Merlin’s stomach. Merlin smoothed his hands along Arthur’s back, the firm muscles that led down to his trim waist. He groped Arthur’s glorious arse and made serious plans about getting inside of it one day soon. Tonight, however, he wanted to be full of Arthur. 

Things progressed quickly. The control Merlin had maintained all day decreased with every surge of Arthur’s hips. Both of their cocks were already leaking, smearing wet trails against Merlin’s skin. 

“Condoms? Lube?” Merlin asked. 

“Bedside table.” 

Merlin sought the items with his mind and they appeared seconds later. 

“You’re very handy to have around, you know?” Arthur smiled down at him, eyes dark with lust.

“It’s a good thing you decided to keep me.” 

Arthur responded with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. And then he reached for a pillow and slid it under Merlin’s bum.

“Legs up.” 

“I’m not a horse, Arthur.” 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to ride you like one.” 

“Jesus.” Merlin complied—but not before performing a quick cleansing spell that he wasn’t sure Arthur noticed. 

He couldn’t even feel self-conscious about being on display as he was, not with the way Arthur was staring down at him. Arthur’s own arousal was magnificent between his thighs, thick and ruddy with blood. He pushed Merlin’s legs back and drew his fingers to Merlin’s hole, circling there and observing the reaction. The touch sent an electric pulse straight to Merlin’s cock. 

“Fuck, Merlin . . .” 

“That’s the idea.” 

Arthur fisted his erection for a second and then got down on his haunches, dragging Merlin closer by his thighs. 

It started with teasing, slow licks around the tight ring of Merlin’s hole. Arthur took his time and kissed Merlin’s balls, drawing each one tenderly into his mouth. Merlin gasped at the wet, clever roll of Arthur’s tongue around his sack. 

Merlin decided right then and there he was going to marry Arthur, or at least Arthur’s mouth. He couldn’t stop from moaning when Arthur kissed his hole, and then pushed his tongue inside. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from being too loud. Arthur kept licking him, varying in the pace, pushing in a finger alongside his tongue. He had the sort of intense concentration on his face that Merlin had often seen before, like the day in the library with Mordred when they’d tried out the listening spell. Merlin relaxed against the intrusion when Arthur added a second, now lube-covered, finger. Fuck, but he wanted Arthur’s cock.

“Okay. I think that can be arranged.” 

“Get on with it, then.” 

“I want to hear you when I fuck you,” Arthur said, rearing up on his knees and grabbing a condom. “Can’t you do a silencing spell or something?” 

The question drew Merlin from his daze of watching Arthur sheath and slick his cock. 

“Yes, I can, actually.” That he hadn’t thought of it himself was only a marker of how gone he was. He muttered the words and hoped it would hold with his concentration so shattered.

Of course, once Arthur was ready, he took forever to give Merlin what he wanted. He teased Merlin’s rim with the head of his prick, just barely pushing it inside before withdrawing and beginning another torturous circle. Merlin glared at him. 

“Don’t make me tie you down to the bed, you prat. Because I will.” 

Arthur’s eyes darted up from where he was tormenting Merlin with his cock. He licked his lips.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Merlin asked. A warm flush ran through him at the thought. “You want me to hold you down with my magic and ride you?” 

A combination of emotions flickered across Arthur’s face—fear, uncertainty, but above all, desire. 

“Do you trust me, Arthur?” 

“Yes.” 

Merlin knew Arthur well enough by now to understand he wouldn’t ask or beg for any of the things he wanted. Merlin would have to act quickly and just do it. And, as frustrated as he was, his cock aching, he had no problem with that. 

He held his breath and surged up, pushing Arthur down on the bed as the invisible tendrils of magic began to bind his hands and feet, leaving Arthur prone and stretched. Helpless. Arthur tugged on his restraints, eyes wide, and yet the surprise hadn’t decreased his arousal. His erection was still thick and hard where it rested on his belly.

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/DoYouTrustMe_wAmph_zpsc5ce7dd0.jpg.html)

“What are you waiting for, then?” Arthur asked. His voice was gruff.

Merlin didn’t waste any more time. He scrabbled onto Arthur’s hips and grabbed his cock, aiming it until he felt it catch on his rim. The first burn of Arthur inside of him stole his breath. Arthur groaned and attempted to thrust up, but had no leverage to do so. The sound of pleasure became one of irritation. 

“Now who has to be patient?” Merlin said before he leaned down to capture Arthur’s mouth. He savoured the stretch as his muscles worked to accommodate the girth of Arthur’s prick. Being in control like this was always heady. Merlin began to rock his hips in a steady, slow grind, taking Arthur further inside as their tongues tangled. His magic flowed out from where it held Arthur and seemed to caress them both, a palpable touch. He wanted it to be so much better than anything Arthur’d had before—make him remember this forever. 

It seemed to be working. He chuckled when Arthur tried to fuck up into him. “Good boy.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” 

“You’re the one who started it.” 

Arthur’s face was flushed. His lips, bitten and kissed, looked obscene. Merlin pushed himself upright again and started to build the friction they both needed. He beat himself off while he rose and sank on Arthur’s cock, the pleasure only increasing with Arthur watching every move of his hand. His magic surged and grew stronger until the ties that bound Arthur began to glow. 

“Fuck, harder. Ride me harder.”

The words came as an order, but they were as strained as Arthur’s body below him, muscles taut where they fought against the fetters. Merlin gave up trying to hold off his orgasm. He stripped his cock and shot warm pulses of come onto Arthur’s chest and face. 

He imagined he could feel Arthur grow even thicker and harder inside of him, so he picked up speed, slamming down onto Arthur’s cock even while his own climax ebbed. It didn’t take long until Arthur was bellowing, head thrown back at a sharp angle against the pillow, his chest pumping as his cock throbbed deep inside of Merlin. Merlin sank down onto him and freed the magical binds. 

Their hearts thudded together. 

“How did you learn how to do that?” Arthur still sounded winded.

“Erm, you probably don’t want to know.” 

“Bloody hell, it’s not something you teach, is it?” 

“NO! Are you insane? But there’s a book. Sort of a magical Kama Sutra.” 

Arthur ran his hands up and down Merlin’s back. “Hmm. We don’t have a copy around here, do we?”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Merlin felt Arthur’s presence in the library before he saw him. The skin on the back of his neck tingled as Arthur quietly approached the table where Mordred was studying and took a seat. He was still in his riding clothes, hair tousled from the wind. Merlin shivered when their legs brushed under the table.

“Did you have a nice ride?” he asked. Even as the words left his mouth, he blushed. Arthur raised an eyebrow. Luckily, Mordred didn’t seem to notice. 

“Yes. How are you two doing in here?” 

“I still don’t get this,” Mordred said. He sighed. “How will I know if someone is trying to use magic to against me?” Merlin had decided, with Arthur’s approval, to teach Mordred some of the more subtle defensive magic he required as part of his curriculum at the Academy, and they’d spent the morning going over the more technical logistics. It had been a good distraction from thinking about Arthur’s visit to Gwaine. But now it was time to put it into practice. 

“You have to learn how to interpret the signs,” Merlin said. “Most of the time, people don’t pay attention when they experience a moment’s discomfort—like when you get a feeling someone is watching you, for example. It could be nothing, but it could be something. You have to really focus, like you do when you’re thinking about your touchstone to settle your magic. Look into yourself.” 

They’d made good progress with that aspect of Mordred’s control, and now hopefully he’d be able to use that same concentration to block offensive spells. Most sorcerers didn’t use dark magic these days, but you could never be too careful. Merlin’s own father had paid the cost with his life. 

“This is hard.” Mordred pouted. “My head hurts.”

“No one said it would be easy.” 

“I think I need a break.” 

“All right,” Merlin said, then stood and reached across the table and to snag Mordred’s book. “We’ll pick up tomorrow.” 

Mordred beamed. “Awesome! Hey, Arthur, can I go hang out with Kara?” 

Arthur shifted in his chair, and looked from Merlin to Mordred. “Yes. But first I need to speak with you for a moment. In private.” 

“Okayyy.” 

“I’ll just be out . . . side. I think I’ll go for a swim.” Merlin backed away from where father and son sat regarding each other warily. If Arthur was about to give Mordred ‘the talk’ he wanted to be as far away as possible. 

The late July days had grown warmer and warmer, and the weather forecasters were predicting unusual drought-like conditions. People said it was the hottest summer since ’76, and it had barely rained in weeks. Merlin changed in the pool-house and dove straight into the cool relief of the water. He did a few laps, all the while sending positive thoughts towards the house. 

A while later, Arthur appeared at the side of the pool dressed in his swim trunks. Merlin stopped mid-lap and squinted up at him. 

“How’d it go?” 

“I think I need a drink.” 

“How about a swim?”

Arthur jumped in, splashing him. “There’s a reason people don’t talk about certain things, Merlin. I feel like I’ve been run over by a lorry.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“Not as bad as it could have been, I suppose. He didn’t try to hex me.” Arthur swam closer until they were both standing on solid ground.

“That is an improvement.” 

After a quick glance around proved they were alone, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and kissed him. “I’m proud of you.” 

“At least I’m assured there’s nothing going on besides what you saw. But I think I should probably tell Percival, anyway, just so he can keep an eye on them over there.” 

“That’s not a bad idea.” 

Arthur backed him against the side of the pool, their chests pressing together. Merlin hesitated, and then asked, “Did it go okay with Gwaine?” 

“Oh, yes. He wants to meet you, though. I told him we’d go to the Regatta, if you like. He’s rowing.” 

The reminder of how the days were slipping by made Merlin forget all about his jealousy. “I can’t believe the summer’s half over.” 

“I know.”

“Are you going to talk to Mithian about Mordred staying?” 

Arthur stiffened, but then relaxed again. He didn’t meet Merlin’s eyes. “Can’t you just freeze time?” 

“I wish I could.” 

“So useless.” 

“I thought you said I was good to have around.” 

Arthur smiled against his lips. “You are. So good, in fact, I think you should stay as well.” 

“Arthur—” 

“I know, I know. You have a job. Scotland isn’t so very far away, I suppose.” 

Even now, though, Merlin could feel the distance those miles would put between them. His throat ached. He let his head loll back as Arthur covered his neck in kisses.


	13. Chapter 13

Arthur thought a lot about freezing time as the days flew by and July turned to August. He thought about it every time Mordred came running into the house smiling and every time Merlin blinked awake in his arms. He thought about it when he finally gained the courage to ring Mithian and propose that Mordred come to live with him in England. 

There was a deep silence on the end of the line. 

“No.” 

“But Mithian, you’ve had him all these years. I think he’s done well here, and his progress with Merlin—you should see them. If he stays he can go to a Magic School. He can go to Merlin’s school, in Edinburgh.” It was the first time he’d considered the idea, and it surprised him even as came out of his mouth, but it also made perfect sense. 

“You are not taking my son from me.” 

“It’s not a matter of taking. He’s my son, too, as you pointed out so astutely earlier this summer.” 

“He has a life here. You can’t just uproot him. He has friends—”

Arthur tried to control the volume of his voice as he cut her off. “He told me he doesn’t really have friends. And he’s hit it off with a girl here on the estate, the gardener’s daughter. He can make new friends at school—there are kids like him there. He’ll be accepted.”

“My answer is still no. You’ve had him all summer and he needs to be back here getting ready for high school. And you have no idea how to deal with a teenager.”

“Oh, it’s so easy for you to turn things around to get your own way.” Arthur stood and paced across the room. Sweat broke out on his brow as he gripped the phone against his ear. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been doing quite well, thank you very much. He hasn’t lit any cars on fire while he’s been with me!” 

“How dare you throw that in my face! So what happens when something goes wrong and you can’t handle it?” 

“I have Merlin—”

“What’s going on between you and the tutor, anyway? Are you sure it’s appropriate?” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“You know what I think? I think you’ve been playing house all summer with Mordred and this, this Merlin, and it’s all sweet and delightful until reality sets in. Arthur, we both know you’re not cut out for that kind of life.” Her voice grew deceptively soft. Arthur’s blood pressure rose. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just that Mordred needs a stable home, a stable environment with two parents who love him. Geoff and I—”

Arthur scoffed. “Geoff. Mordred hates that bloody wanker.” 

“No he doesn’t. He just needs time to get to know him. And I’ll thank you to not refer to my husband in that manner.” 

“Well I’ll _thank you_ not to dismiss Merlin. For the first time in my life I’ve found someone that I want to spend it with—”

Mithian let out a gasp on the end of the line. “Does Mordred know about this?”

“About what?” he snapped. He might have thrown the phone out the window if it wouldn’t cost him a trip to buy a new one. 

“About you and the tutor?” 

Arthur froze mid-stride. 

“He doesn’t, does he? You’re keeping it a secret. How do you expect to be a good role model for Mordred? By sneaking around with a younger man—your own employee?” 

“He isn’t that young. It’s not like that. You’re twisting things around.” He yanked his hand through his hair. 

“I don’t think so, I think you’ve just proven my point. Our arrangement still stands. I’ll be there in a week to collect my son.” 

Before he could argue, the line went dead. He called back and received no answer, and not even the irate message he left on Mithian’s voicemail made him feel better. 

Merlin caught him in the hallway on his way to the stables. A brisk ride on Excalibur might be the only thing to settle the blood boiling in his chest right now.

“How did it go? Or should I not ask?” Merlin bit his lip. 

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh, Arthur. I’m so sorry.” 

“And you know the worst of it? She’s probably right. I’ve got to go.” 

Without another word, he stomped away and left Merlin behind. Maybe he had been deluding himself—playing house, as Mithian had put it. While things had progressed with Merlin, he was leaving to go back to his old life soon enough, and Arthur would remain here on his country estate. They would visit, of course, but slowly, inexorably, the distance between them would grow. Even now it was a poison colouring their time together. If only he hadn’t come to rely on Merlin. He’d lost sight of the need for caution and now his heart was as open as a raw wound. 

And Mordred seemed to be enjoying himself, but would he really rather give up his life in America, his mother—all for the sake of a father he still hardly knew, whose only claim on him was by virtue of blood? 

Arthur marched to the stable and saddled Excalibur quickly, lost in his black thoughts. The horse seemed to sense his mood, whickering and bumping him in greeting. But it wasn’t until Arthur was astride and hurtling towards the far side of the estate that the knot in his chest finally began to loosen. The powerful musculature of the animal under his legs steadied him despite the quick pace, and soon Arthur had rounded the far fields, the outermost limits of the estate. 

On any other day he would have remembered the ha-ha before he came upon it. Everything happened in a blur. One moment they were galloping hard, and the next Arthur was rolling on the ground to deflect his fall, the wind knocked out of him. His head barely missed the stone wall that anchored the turf of the upper pasture as he landed in a disconcerted heap. In his anger, he’d completely forgotten about the drop between pastures, an antiquated design meant to keep sheep from wandering. Excalibur must have missed it, too, and stumbled. 

A sharp pain radiated from collarbone to shoulder when he tried to move. He cursed and thumped his head back against the ground. At least Excalibur hadn’t been injured—he was happily grazing only a few metres away as though nothing had happened. Not like the last time. Not like Avalon. 

“You callous beast,” Arthur said, though he was greatly relieved. 

Excalibur ignored him and continued munching the fresh grass. 

With some manoeuvring and favouring of his right shoulder, which luckily didn’t appear broken, Arthur managed to remount and make his way back towards the stables. His pride, however, was incredibly bruised, as was his arse. 

It didn’t help that Merlin was sitting on the fence watching his slow progress home. 

He grabbed the reins as Arthur dismounted. Though he tried to hide his injury, he’d lost full range of motion in his arm, and his clothes were dusty.

“Arthur, are you okay? Did something happen?” 

“No. Yes. I had a bit of a fall.” Arthur tried to lead Excalibur, but his shoulder throbbed when the horse tugged on the reins. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Your face is white as a sheet. Let me help you, you prat.” 

By now Arthur was too weary to protest. He handed Excalibur off to the stable hand and didn’t complain when Merlin wrapped an arm around his waist. His whole body ached, and Merlin felt strong and solid beside him. 

“You ran off in such a hurry, I was worried about you,” Merlin said. 

“I probably shouldn’t have been riding.” 

“Do you think you broke anything?” 

“No, it’s just a bruise.” 

Merlin was quiet for a moment. “And what did Mithian say?” 

A low throb of pain distracted Arthur from answering. And anyway, how could he tell Merlin what Mithian had suggested, how much of it had rung true to his own ears? It made him seem such a coward, in addition to being a fraud. He grimaced and kept his eyes focused ahead. 

“Arthur—”

“She said no, all right? Let that be an end to it.”

“Just no? And you’re going to take that for an answer?” 

Arthur gritted his teeth. “It’s none of your business, Merlin.” 

“Oh. I see.” 

Even though he instantly regretted what he’d said given Merlin’s clipped response, he didn’t have time to apologise. Mordred came running down to meet them with a concerned look on his face. “What happened?”

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse falls.”

“Maybe we should call the doctor just to be sure,” Merlin said. 

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Merlin’s right, Dad, you should probably get it looked at.” 

Arthur’s head snapped around, but Mordred didn’t appear to realise what he’d said. He continued chattering on about the time he’d sprained his ankle in gymnasium, little knowing that one word only three letters long had rendered Arthur’s injury insignificant. His chest felt full and heavy, but also indescribably light. Merlin smiled at him, an expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He glanced away before Arthur could reciprocate.

“Fine. We’ll call the doctor,” Arthur said. “But only to prove the both of you wrong.” 

A visit from Dr Spence vindicated Arthur, but the doctor left him with a taped-up shoulder and an admonishment to keep it still and ice it often while the extensive bruising healed, which meant no riding. He left a prescription for strong pain medication that Arthur balled and tossed into the bin. 

Once Mordred had gotten bored of sitting around Arthur’s rooms and had gone off to entertain himself, Arthur was left alone with Merlin, who hung back as if unsure whether to stay or go. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. About it not being your business. I—”

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

“What?” He nearly choked on the word. Merlin stared at him with startled blue eyes, like he’d been shocked by his confession as well. “You—”

“Wait, before you say anything, let me finish,” Merlin continued, cutting him off. “A couple years ago I probably wouldn’t have said it, because I know it’s too early, and we don’t really know each other that well, but I would have felt it and I’d have been miserable, not telling you. I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know anything except I don’t want it to end in September. And I want you to love me back and not shut me out like you did today. Because that really fucking hurt.” As he spoke, Merlin rounded the bed. His gaze was steady—and fearful. 

Arthur’s throat tightened. The thought of Merlin ever leaving was unbearable. Arthur reached out his arms and exhaled with relief as Merlin climbed onto the bed and sagged against his chest, avoiding the injured side. “I’m sorry.” Arthur whispered the words against Merlin’s hair. “I’m . . . glad you told me.” He kissed Merlin’s head and inhaled his chlorine and soap smell, evidence he’d been out swimming. 

“You are? You’re not freaked out?” 

“No.” He hugged tighter, trying to convey what he felt with the gesture. Merlin loved him. He grinned in spite of his shoulder throbbing under the cold compress. Merlin loved him. In spite of what Mithian had said that morning. Merlin loved him. 

And then Merlin kissed him, and Arthur couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so happy.

“This is crazy,” Merlin said. 

“Completely mad.” 

“Probably ill-advised.” 

“Definitely ill-advised. But then you seem to have that effect on me.” 

“God, I want to shag you rotten.” 

“Lock the door first.” Arthur was only half-joking, but he smiled as he heard the door click closed. He kissed Merlin again, putting some intent behind it, but a barb of pain made him hiss when he added his injured arm to the mix. Merlin pulled back. 

“Oh, my poor patient. You need your rest.” 

“I don’t need any bloody rest.” Arthur craned his head to continue where they’d left off. Merlin would have none of it, though. He gently disentangled himself and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“So, about Mordred—is that the end? Are you going to let him go?” 

“I don’t think I have a choice. Mithian’s coming next week. And . . . she’s right, I’m not a good influence.” 

“That’s ridiculous. I can’t believe she said that to you.” 

“She has a point.” 

“No. No, she doesn’t. You’re a good father, I’ve seen it. And she was probably just angry because you want Mordred to stay. She knows how to hit you where it hurts.” 

Arthur frowned at the fact he hadn’t considered that before. But then again he’d been too angry to rationalise. 

“Maybe the best thing to do is wait until she’s here,” Merlin continued. “She’ll see how well he’s doing, and you can hash it out. And of course ask Mordred what he thinks.” 

“And we should probably tell him about us.” 

“All right. We’ll do it tomorrow after the Regatta.” 

Arthur groaned. He’d completely forgotten about the event and his promise to Gwaine.

“Oh come now,” Merlin said. “It’ll be fun.”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Threatening clouds darkened the sky the next morning when Arthur, Mordred, and Merlin piled into the car for the hour-long drive to the Isis, the stretch of river where the Oxford City Royal Regatta was held each year. It had been a tradition for the Pendragon family to attend as long as Arthur could remember; Uther had been a stroke in his younger years and had encouraged Arthur to take up the sport, though he never had. Still, he’d always enjoyed spectating, not least because of the attractive men who filled the boats, muscular chests and arms on display. It was how he’d first met Gwaine at uni. 

Those memories flickered in and out of his mind now with Merlin close beside him, gazing out of the window and commenting on the scenery. Mordred yawned and dozed off as the journey went on, and Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand. This day was the fork in the road that could make all the difference for the future. If Mordred took it well, perhaps he would want to stay and attend school in Edinburgh. Arthur could get an Edinburgh flat for part of the year and stable Excalibur outside of the city. 

Once they arrived, George parked and let them off close to the boathouse. They wouldn’t be able to see much of the action, but at least he would placate Gwaine, whom he hadn’t seen in weeks. Arthur suffered the indignity of having both Mordred and Merlin fuss over him on his way to the riverbank, though he felt fine. His body was stiff but he could walk on his own, thank you very much.

Just then he spied Gwaine in the distance wearing his City of Oxford blue and red. 

“Oi!” Gwaine separated from his crew and waved. “You made it. I didn’t know if you’d come.” He slapped Arthur on the shoulder, frowning when he winced. “What in the bloody hell did you do?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little fall.” 

“You and that bloody horse.” Gwaine tutted and turned to Merlin. “Hullo there. Arthur, aren’t you going to introduce us?” 

“This is Mr Emrys,” Arthur said, at the same time mentally chastising himself for forgetting to remind Gwaine his relationship with Merlin was currently a secret. Hopefully the formality of the introduction would stave off any untoward remarks in front of Mordred. 

“Pleased to meet you.” Gwaine grinned before extending his hand. Merlin smiled and shook it. 

“And you.”

“Arthur’s told me so much about you. He says you’re an excellent tutor.” 

Merlin flushed. “Yeah, well, Mordred makes it easy.”

“No I don’t.” Mordred came forward with his arms crossed. “But you deal pretty well with my crap.” 

Gwaine’s attention shifted to Mordred. “There’s the man in question. You probably don’t remember me; you were just a little bloke last I saw you.” 

“No, but I remember seeing you making out with my dad a few weeks ago,” Mordred said. “What are you guys, like boyfriends or something?” 

“Nah, well—we’re just good mates, right Arthur?” Gwaine grinned at him. 

Mordred rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I make out with all my friends. That’s totally normal.” 

Gwaine snorted. “I like the lad, Arthur. He’s got bottle. Reminds me of you when—”  
Arthur cut him off with an elbow to the ribs though he had no idea what Gwaine had been about to say. Always better to cut him off at the pass.

“Oh, I want to know. Tell me!” Mordred was practically hopping in place.

Gwaine tousled his hair. “Another time, when you’re older. Anyway, I best run. I’m headed out with the lads after but we’ll meet up soon, yeah?” After a round of good-lucks, Gwaine rejoined his crew. 

“That was, erm, interesting,” Merlin whispered. Arthur nodded. He supposed it could have been worse. But now didn’t exactly seem like the most appropriate time to bring up his new relationship with Merlin, unless he wanted Mordred to think he was an utter tart. 

They settled down amongst the crowd, which was buzzing in regards to the impending rain; for now, at least, it was holding off, though the weather had already turned damp and cool. 

The first 1000m went off without a hitch, Gwaine’s crew winning by three lengths. They lost in the second, however—a much closer race—and by the third were in their groove again, claiming an easy victory over the City of Cambridge. As the awkwardness of the earlier meeting with Gwaine ebbed, Arthur found himself thinking about how to raise the topic of Merlin. He hoped Mordred would be pleased. 

After the morning races the skies opened up, and the crowd began to dissipate, some people seeking shelter under trees and umbrellas, others folding up their chairs and heading home. Since Gwaine’s races were over for the day, Arthur, Mordred, and Merlin decided to make their own exit. During the ride back to the manor it grew almost impossible to see the road. Luckily George had always been an impeccable driver. 

“We needed the rain, at least,” Merlin said. I think it’s supposed to be like this for days. You know we could—”

“I told Kara I’d come over when we got back,” Mordred interrupted as they pulled up to the front of the manor. “Is that all right?” 

“Hang on a minute. We wanted to speak with you,” Arthur said. His palms had gone clammy. “You know your mother is coming next week and, well, there’s something I wanted to run by you first.” 

“What?” 

Arthur blew out a breath. There was no time like the present, after all. “Well, to start off, Merlin and I have been getting closer.”

“What do you mean?” Mordred’s eyes narrowed.

“I mean we’ve been—what I mean to say is—”

“What your father is trying to tell you is that he and I are dating.” Merlin’s voice was strong in spite of Mordred’s glare. 

“I can’t believe this. I hate you,” Mordred directed at Merlin, “and I HATE YOU more than anyone in the world!” he spat at Arthur. 

The words hit Arthur like a slap, but before he could respond, the door opened and George presented himself holding an umbrella. He peered in.

“My lord?” he said over the roar of the deluge.

“Yes, George, thank you.” It was hard to speak. 

Blood throbbed in Arthur’s temples in spite of the cold rain as they hurried up the steps. Once they were inside Mordred took off towards his rooms, but not before slamming the front door with his magic and rattling the foundations in the process. The resounding echo sounded much too final. 

Arthur stared numbly at the stairs. “Should I go after him?”

“Maybe we should give him a little time.” 

“I think I really bolloxed things up.” 

Merlin touched his good shoulder. “No, you didn’t. He’ll come around.” 

“I should have asked him to stay first. I’m such a bloody idiot.” 

Merlin gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay, Arthur.” 

But Mordred didn’t join them for dinner and he refused to speak to Arthur later that night. Back in Arthur’s rooms before bed, the tension grew almost unbearable. 

“I never expected him to be so—I mean, I thought he might be glad.” The jubilation of the previous day seemed so remote now, all the progress they’d made in the last months dashed in an instant. 

“He needs to get used to the idea, Arthur. It’s not something that we can force on him, you know? If he’s not okay with it—”

“What if I ask him to stay and he refuses as long as we’re a couple?”

Merlin shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Then what?” 

The question hung heavy in the air between them, unanswered. Arthur didn’t sleep that night, and in the morning when they woke, Mordred was missing.


	14. Chapter 14

Merlin closed his eyes and strained to get a glimmer of Mordred, anything at all, but the image in his mind faded before he could grasp the full picture. As he chased it, it only retreated further away, like a ghostly figure through thick mist. His frustration and worry weren’t helping anything. He exhaled and tried again. Still nothing—and this time not even a flicker. It had been like this since they’d discovered Mordred missing a short time before, and Merlin knew with a fearful certainty that the more he tried the more likely he would fail.

Wherever he was, Mordred was onto them, and Merlin’s Sight was useless. They were on their own. 

“Well?” Arthur demanded, stopping in the centre of the library, where he’d been pacing.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Arthur.” 

“How is that possible? I thought you could see anyone?”

“Not if they’re trying to block me.” 

Arthur grew very still, his face becoming a mask. “I see.” 

A cold and heavy weight pressed on Merlin’s chest. He’d taught Mordred the defensive magic, just as he’d taught him the invisibility spell. Arthur didn’t even need to say what was so plainly on his mind—the accusation was written all over his body. 

“Maybe Kara knows something she’s not telling us,” Merlin said. After they’d found Mordred’s room empty and scoured the house, they’d rung Percival. Instead of finding Mordred there in the cottage as they’d hoped, Percival reported that his daughter was alone and didn’t know anything of Mordred’s whereabouts.

Arthur nodded, but his voice was curt. “Let’s go.” 

The girl didn’t seem to be lying, however. She regarded them with wide eyes that welled with tears. 

“Are you sure he never said anything to you—never told you he was thinking about running away?” Merlin tried to keep his tone soft. He’d taken over the questioning from Arthur, who was staring out the window of the cottage towards the manor as if hoping Mordred would materialize on the dreary, rain-soaked lawn.

“No. Never. He—liked it here. He said he didn’t want to leave. I s-s-wear!” The dam burst and Percival strode across the living room to wrap a protective arm around his daughter. 

“I think that’s enough, Merlin.” 

Merlin nodded. “Okay. But if you remember something, anything at all—if you hear from him, call us immediately, all right?” 

The girl nodded through her tears, then buried her head against her father’s shoulder. 

After a moment, Percival shushed her and rose. “I think it’s time we ring the police.” 

“I think you’re right,” Merlin agreed.

Arthur was the one to make the call. Merlin watched him as he explained the time frame and received instructions. “Thank you, Gwen.” He hung up with a renewed expression of hope in his eyes.

“What is it?” Merlin asked. 

“They say they can trace the GPS on his mobile to within twenty feet.” 

“Of course! Why didn’t we think of that?” 

“Let’s just pray he’s kept his phone with him.” 

Unfortunately, when Arthur’s mobile rang a few minutes later, it wasn’t great news. They’d found the location of the phone—in the manor. Mordred must have left it behind purposefully. Arthur hung up again with his mouth set in a grim line. 

“We’re going to have to split up and search the estate.” 

Merlin stood and nodded. “Maybe we should ring Gwaine.” 

“I can help, too.” Percival glanced out the window. “It’s raining pretty hard now; I’ll go get ready.”

“I want to help,” Kara said.

“I think the best thing you can do is stay here, Kara, in case Mordred comes back. All right?” Merlin smiled at her though his stomach was in knots. 

“No. I’m going to help my father.” She crossed her arms defiantly. 

“All right.” 

She fled the room in a hurry to change, and Merlin and Arthur were left alone. 

“We’re going to find him. He’s a resourceful kid. I’m sure that wherever he is, he’s okay.” 

Arthur stared at him blankly. “I’ve got to call Mithian.” 

“Arthur—”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault, but right now I’m looking for someone to blame and I might say something I’d regret. And anyway, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have told him like that. I should have told him right away that I wanted him to stay and I didn’t because I was the one afraid of rejection.” 

“You couldn’t have known—”

“If anything happens to him I’ll never forgive myself. Never.” 

“I love him too, Arthur. I promise you, we _will_ find him.” 

“Did you hear what Kara said? He wanted to stay and I didn’t even see it. What kind of father am I?” 

Merlin’s throat went tight, but before he could answer Percival and Kara entered the room. “We’re ready.” 

Once they were back in the manor, Arthur’s attention refocused. “Okay. I’m going to make a few calls and then as soon as the police get here, we’ll split up.” He left the rest of them in the breakfast room and retreated to the kitchen. 

The shouting that came from beyond the door a few minutes later left no doubt in Merlin’s mind who Arthur was speaking with. Mithian was probably irate—or worse—and rightly so. Still, Merlin was indignant on behalf of Arthur, who was already beating himself up for what had happened. This would only give Mithian more ammunition against him. 

He couldn’t imagine Mordred had gone far. Yes, he’d been angry to find out about their lie of omission—but without any money aside from the small allowance Arthur gave him each week, he wouldn’t be able to fly or travel by train. On the other hand Mordred was a determined kid, a trait he’d inherited from his father. Merlin didn’t doubt that if he set his mind to it, he could vanish quite easily. Literally. 

As he sat with Percival and Kara waiting for the police, Merlin tried his best not to think about what this meant for him and Arthur. Mordred needed all of their attention and everything else would have to wait. Still, it was hard to imagine a future for them now even if Mordred was found. How could Arthur ever forgive him for teaching Mordred those spells, for being so proud and foolish? 

He tried again to use his Sight and once again, failed. He huffed and grit his teeth. Arthur returned with a pale face. 

“Mithian is coming.”

The officers they sent to investigate were apparently well known to Arthur, it being a rather small community. Arthur ushered everyone into the living room. The woman was petite and pretty with curly black hair and chocolate skin, and her partner was as handsome and earnest, training his thoughtful brown eyes on Arthur as he spoke. 

“And you have no reason to suspect foul play?” 

Arthur’s face, as pale as it had been, turned nearly green. “God, Lance, I don’t think so.” 

“We’ll take a look around to check for signs of forced entry,” the man—Lance—said. “But it sounds to me like we’re probably dealing with a runaway. I’ve seen these kinds of cases before, and I can’t stress enough how important it is not to panic. More likely than not he’s already regretting it and is on his way back home, especially with the weather the way it is.” 

Arthur seemed to latch onto the words like a lifeline. He nodded, and Merlin was tempted to take his hand. 

“Oh, Arthur,” said the woman. “I’m sure he’ll turn up shortly. He hasn’t been gone long, and we’re going to do everything we can to find him.” 

“Thank you, Gwen.” 

“Let’s go check out Mordred’s room and then we’ll coordinate a search.” 

They found Mordred’s mobile on the floor of his room by the bed, hidden within a pile of dirty laundry. Some clothes were missing along with the rucksack Mordred had brought with him from America. When the staff was questioned, Ms Smith reported some stolen food as well. Mordred had probably waited until the house was asleep to raid the kitchen and make his escape. 

Gwen and Lance exchanged a look. “So we can conclude that Mordred’s disappearance is voluntary,” Gwen said. 

Lance nodded. “All right. Well, the next thing we do is start looking in the likely places—the train station, shops in town where he might have gone, that sort of thing. We’ll put the call in around the county to keep an eye out. Arthur, I think you should sit tight and wait to hear from us.” 

“I can’t do nothing. He is _my son_.” 

“Like Lance said before,” Gwen went on, “this kind of case isn’t at all unusual. You got in a tiff and he took off, but he’ll be back in a day or two, mark my words.” 

Arthur looked ready to fume, but Merlin stepped in front of him. “Thank you. We appreciate your help. I don’t think Arthur and I are going to be comfortable waiting for news, though—”

“Nor I,” Percival interjected. 

Merlin gave him a grateful smile. “So I think we’ll search as well, if it’s all the same to you. Hughes will wait here for Mordred and call us if Mordred comes home.” 

The butler nodded from where he stood in the corner of the living room, pretending not to listen. 

“Of course. Whatever you think is best. But just keep in mind that if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be, especially if his magic is as powerful as you say.” Gwen directed the comment at Merlin. “That doesn’t mean he won’t come home soon. In ninety-nine percent of cases the kids are back within forty-eight hours.” 

Arthur stayed silent, his jaw ticking. Merlin took the liberty of showing Gwen and Lance out, thanking them again and promising to keep in touch for updates. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate their logic or assurance—they just didn’t know Mordred. Or Arthur.

  
[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)   


Eight hours later, Merlin shivered in his thin jacket as he and Arthur approached the old mill on the banks of the swollen river. It was the last building on the estate left to search, but Merlin’s intuition told him it would be fruitless—the place looked like it hadn’t seen a human inhabitant in decades.

The rain had made the ground muddy and difficult to navigate, but that was the least of their problems. Percival and Gwaine had partnered up along with Kara to question people in town, but as of their last contact about an hour before, they’d turned up nothing. The afternoon had worn into evening, and in spite of more and more people joining the search, soon enough they’d have to postpone until morning. Merlin could tell Arthur’s shoulder was bothering him but he didn’t utter a word of complaint, so intent was his focus. They’d hardly spoken since their conversation at Percival’s. 

Inside the mill, Arthur flicked on his torch and led the way, stepping gingerly around a rather sizeable hole in the floor. The boards creaked under their feet. It smelled of rotten wood and animal droppings and mould. 

“This way,” Arthur said, gesturing with his good arm. Merlin bit his lip and nodded. He didn’t have the heart to tell Arthur there was no way they’d find Mordred here. There were a hundred more hospitable places within the vicinity. 

They reached a narrow staircase missing more steps than was probably wise to try and climb, but Arthur forged ahead. 

Upstairs was a bit less dank than the first floor had been. The cavernous room opened up before them, empty except for a pile of old machinery to one side. Still, Arthur flicked his torch into every last corner, just as he’d done with every building they’d searched until now. 

“He’s not here,” Arthur said. 

“I know.” 

“Goddammit!” 

Arthur flung the torch so hard that it cracked and flickered out, leaving them in the dim light filtering in from the long window. 

“Shit,” Arthur cursed. He braced his arm against the wall and leaned his head against it. 

Merlin didn’t waste any time crossing the room and taking Arthur in his arms. He expected resistance, but instead Arthur hugged him tightly. For a moment they stood clutching each other. Merlin rubbed Arthur’s back, not saying anything for fear of making things worse. His own guilt closed in on him and made breathing difficult. No matter how bad he might feel, hearing how sorry he was wouldn’t make things better for Arthur. 

“I just want to find him,” Arthur said. “I just need to find him.” 

“We will.” He hoped he sounded sure. 

“Help me, Merlin.” 

The words sounded so broken—cracked as the floorboards under their feet. Night wasn’t far off now. Merlin kissed Arthur and took his face between his hands. 

“I promise that we’ll find him. I promise. But we can’t do that here. We need to go back to the house and regroup.” 

“You’re right.” 

They made their way back in the golf buggy they’d used to cover distance more quickly. By the time they reached the manor, it was dark, though at least the rain had let up. That would make the search easier the next morning. 

Percival and Gwaine were warming themselves with coffee in the breakfast room when Merlin and Arthur entered. 

“Any luck?” Gwaine asked. His jovial, teasing demeanour from the previous day had given way to a concerned sobriety. The circles under his eyes matched Percival’s. 

Merlin shook his head. “None. You?”

“No one’s seen him in town. So far nothing from the county, either. I suspect he’s lying low, probably knows we’re looking for him.” 

“Wait—” Arthur’s eyes grew wide. “Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe—”

“What?” Merlin asked.

“The telepathy spell, the one you taught us in the library—do you think?” 

“It could work.” Even though Mordred was blocking Merlin’s Sight, it didn’t mean he was necessarily blocking Arthur. If he reached out maybe—just maybe—Mordred would hear him. “Why don’t you try?” 

A silence descended upon the room as Arthur closed his eyes, his brows knitting in concentration. Merlin realised they were all holding their breath. 

Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Arthur sighed.

“Did you feel anything?” Merlin asked. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

Merlin poured himself some coffee and a cup for Arthur as well, who gulped it down before he resumed pacing. The dawn felt very far away.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, Arthur startled from where he’d been dozing on the living room settee, instantly alert. 

“Is Mordred—”

Merlin’s weary expression told him no, they hadn’t found his son yet, and Arthur sagged back against the cushions. His body felt like it was tied together with string. 

“I think Mithian and Geoff have arrived, though.” Merlin squeezed his hand. With the shadows under his eyes and his pale face, Merlin didn’t appear to have slept at all. Arthur wanted nothing more than to curl up with him in his arms, but then a heavily accented male voice boomed from the foyer.

“Where’s my stepson? And where’s Arthur Pendragon?” 

There was some bustle, and Hughes’ voice telling the new arrivals to wait, but before Arthur could prepare himself, Mithian and a tall, rather oafish sort of a man strode into the living room. The man, who couldn’t be anyone but Geoff, glared around as though offended by the surroundings.

“Arthur!” Mithian moved quickly past her husband; she had circles as dark as Merlin’s. “Is there any news? Where is he?” 

Arthur frowned and shook his head. “We don’t know yet.” The look of pure disgust she gave him might have hurt if he could have felt any worse.

“I think we should go get some coffee and talk.” Merlin stepped forward. “I’m Merlin Emrys.” 

“The sorcerer.” Geoff’s eyes widened as he stared at Merlin’s outstretched hand. Arthur couldn’t place his accent, but it was decidedly American. 

Merlin’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “You could say that. But really I’m just Mordred’s tutor.”

“What sorts of things have you been teaching my son?” Mithian demanded. “Ever since he came here he’s been different—he’s changed! He would never have done this at home. He would never have run away.” 

Arthur could stand Mithian’s anger directed at him, but not at Merlin. Merlin hadn’t asked to come here. He hadn’t been the one to make Mordred feel unwanted. Arthur sighed and inserted himself between them. “Mithian, do I have to remind you that it was your idea—as well as mine—for Mordred to have some magical tutelage? And until yesterday we were all getting along well. Merlin is wonderful with Mordred.”

She scoffed. “You ask me to believe that and yet he’s run away! He could be anywhere in the country by now!” 

“We’re going to find him,” Arthur said with conviction. The day before he’d been on the verge of losing hope, but Merlin had held him together. Today as the sun began to rise, filtering light through the curtains, a new certainty rooted deep within him. He would find Mordred or die trying.

“Of course we are,” Merlin said. “I’ll go wake the others.” 

Gwaine, Percival, and Kara had all stayed over at the manor the previous night so they’d be ready if needed. Arthur nodded and watched Merlin hurry to collect them. 

Gwen and Lance arrived a short time later while Arthur was in the middle of filling in Mithian and Geoff about the previous day’s events. The five of them formed an odd company, everyone declining breakfast except for Geoff, who munched quite loudly on a packet of biscuits that seemed to have materialised out of thin air. While the police still didn’t have news about Mordred’s whereabouts, they remained optimistic about the search. 

“And no one in town saw him—he didn’t try and buy a ticket?” Mithian asked.

“Not that we know of, ma’am,” said Lance. “But we’ve got eyes in every major station from here to Scotland.” 

Geoff frowned and gave Arthur a pointed stare. “He could have hopped on the train without one.” 

“We’ll find him,” Gwen said in a firm voice. She turned to Mithian. “I’ve been on the force for ten years and, like Lance told Arthur, in ninety-nine percent of these cases, the child will come back on his or her own.” 

Mithian frowned. “What happens in the other one percent?” 

“We’re going to get your son home safe and sound.” Gwen reached forward and patted Mithian’s knee. “We’ll do whatever we can.” 

“Today we’re coordinating a web search to connect with nearby counties and the Met,” Lance said. “Mordred’s description is everywhere and the rail staff and Transport Police are on the lookout for a boy travelling alone; he’ll be spotted.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Crumbs flew out of Geoff’s mouth as he spoke. 

Mithian turned to him, brows knitting together. “Geoff—”

“I’m just telling the man like it is, honey. If I know that kid of yours, he’s not gonna be found if he doesn’t wanna be.”

“Well what would you suggest, then?” Lancelot raised an eyebrow. 

“The kid’s trying to get attention with this little stunt, same as always. The more we play into it, the bigger kick he’ll get. He’ll come back when he’s tired and hungry—and if it were up to me, I’d give him a hiding he wouldn’t soon forget when he does.” 

Arthur glared at the man. “It’s a good thing it’s not up to you.” 

Merlin cleared his throat to announce he’d rejoined the group. “I don’t think Mordred has gone far. I would be able to feel it.”

“Oh would you now?” Geoff snorted. “That’s comforting.” 

“Bickering isn’t going to help find Mordred,” Arthur said. “Merlin, where’s Gwaine?”

“He’s erm—upstairs with Percival now; they’ll be down soon.” Something about the way Merlin said it gave Arthur an idea that the two of them had been doing a lot more than sleeping the previous night. 

“And Kara?”

“She’s still in bed; I didn’t have the heart to wake her.” 

Arthur stood. “All right. Well, as enlightening as this conversation has been, we need to get moving. Mithian, you stay here in case Mordred returns. Merlin, why don’t you wait for Gwaine and Percival and then . . .”

He froze; something was lingering at the back of his mind—an unvoiced thought trying to break through. The more he concentrated, the sharper it got. It reminded him of the last time he’d— 

“Mordred?” he whispered. 

A wave of pure calm stole over him, bringing with it his son’s voice. 

_I’m sorry. Dad—I . . . I’m sorry I ran away._

Arthur turned his back on the rest of the people in the room so he wouldn’t lose the link. The night before when he’d tried to connect with Mordred through telepathy, he’d felt foolish, as though he was screaming into a vast chasm where his voice was swallowed by nothingness. He couldn’t afford that sort of failure now. 

_I’m here. Where are you? We’ve been worried sick._

_I’m in London, at your flat._

_How in the . . . Mordred, wait for me there. Stay put, all right? I’m coming._

_Are you angry?_

Stretched over the vast distance, Mordred’s voice sounded thinner, like the little boy he no longer was. 

_I’m just relieved you’re all right. Please wait for me._

When the connection finally snapped, Arthur turned to face the rest of the group. Merlin was the only person he saw. Suddenly it didn’t matter that Mithian and Geoff were in the room, or that Percival and Gwaine had just arrived—Arthur took two long strides towards Merlin and kissed him. The energy between them vibrated, same as always. He clutched Merlin to him and buried his face against Merlin’s neck.

“He’s okay. He’s in London,” he whispered before repeating the words louder for everyone else to hear. 

Merlin grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

Two hours later Mithian, Merlin, and Arthur arrived at the Kensington flat. It hadn’t taken much to convince Geoff to stay behind and avoid the family reunion. Arthur led the way, taking the steps two-by-two—Mordred’s voice in his head had begun to seem like a delusion, the trick of a sleep-deprived mind, and Arthur needed to see him in the flesh. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned the doorknob and entered the dimly lit foyer, followed by a rush of relief so acute as to be almost paralyzing when he saw Mordred’s rucksack on the floor next to the stairs. 

“Mordred?” he called out. Behind him, Mithian and Merlin entered the room. 

“Are you sure he—oh, his bag! Mordred! Mordred, it’s Mum!” Mithian’s voice wavered. 

Not a second later, Mordred appeared to materialise out of thin air. Mithian gasped and rushed towards him, and without words the two of them embraced. Mithian sobbed as she clutched Mordred, and for a moment Arthur wondered what life would have been like if they’d stayed together. But that thought vanished as quickly as it had come with the warm pressure of Merlin’s hand on his arm. 

“We’ve been so worried!” Mithian said when she could finally get a breath. “I thought I’d lost you forever!” 

“I’m sorry, Mum; I didn’t mean for you to worry.” 

“Don’t ever do anything like that again!” 

“I won’t.” Mordred’s voice was small. As he finally disentangled himself from his mother—who wasn’t keen on letting go—he looked at Arthur. “Hi,” he said. 

It was like their first meeting months before, only now things were different. Arthur didn’t think twice before drawing Mordred into a hug that—thankfully—his son returned. They stood that way for a moment as Arthur got his bearings. 

“Were you really worried?” Mordred asked. 

“That’s a ridiculous question. We nearly tore the county apart trying to find you.” He tousled Mordred’s hair. Now that the search was over and the adrenaline had worn off, Arthur’s limbs felt heavy as lead. His shoulder ached. 

Mordred toed the floor. “I guess I didn’t really think about that.” 

“You didn’t think we’d look for you?” Arthur frowned. “What on earth is going on in your head?” 

“Well, I figured you got what you wanted so you didn’t need me anymore.” 

As Arthur tried to comprehend his son’s enigmatic statement, Merlin hummed. 

“I think I know what this is about.” 

Mordred looked at him warily. He folded his arms as Merlin continued. “Why don’t you tell your father what you’re worried about?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Mordred’s stony expression was enough to make things click into place for Arthur. How could he have been so stupid? 

He took Mordred by the shoulders. “Do you think I was only showing an interest in you to get close to Merlin?” 

Mordred shrugged and looked away. Arthur gave him a little shake. “That is absolutely not true. Listen to me. I’ve loved spending time with you these last few months. I was planning on asking if you wanted to stay once the summer was out, but I bolloxed that up quite royally, I’m afraid. You are the most important person in the world to me; do you understand that? I’m your father and I love you. And even if you decide to go back to America, whatever you do, no matter what—I will always love you.” 

Mordred’s face turned tomato-red. He squirmed out of Arthur’s grip, but a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “All right, all right, you don’t have to get so mushy about it.” 

Merlin had hung back during the exchange. Now, Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand and pulled him forward. “But Merlin is going to be a part of my life now. I care about him very much, and he cares about you. Is that going to be a problem?” 

The flush on Mordred’s face grew deeper. “Er, no. I mean, I think it’s good for you guys. Like, I’m happy for you and stuff—but can we please, please stop talking about this? I’m gonna throw up.” 

Merlin grinned. “Says the one with a rather worried girlfriend back home.” 

Mithian spoke up. “Girlfriend?” 

“Ugh.” Mordred covered his face with his hands. “You people are humiliating, I swear.” 

Mithian smiled, but there was tension in it. Arthur knew what she was thinking; the same thoughts were in his mind. But now it was up to Mordred. 

“Well, it seems like we have a lot to discuss,” Mithian said. “And I could use a spot of coffee.”

“I’ll make you some.” Mordred was off in a flash. 

“He’ll _make_ me some?” she asked the empty air. 

“It’s easy with magic,” Merlin said. “He’s gotten pretty good at cooking, too. Makes a mean pancakes and eggs.” 

“I can’t believe it.” 

“He’s learned a lot from Merlin this summer. He can even control the wild magic—to a point.” Arthur knew not to press the advantage. 

“That’s—that’s wonderful.” Her eyes shone.

As the afternoon wore on, Mordred did indeed showcase his skills in the kitchen, whipping up a humble lunch of beans on toast out of the pantry’s sparse contents. He told them about how he’d managed to stay invisible long enough to hop a ride on the train and lock himself in the loo until it reached Victoria Station; by the time Arthur and Merlin had awoken the day before, he’d already been hiding out in the flat. No wonder all of their enquiries had been unsuccessful. 

By now, Arthur’s relief had given way to irritation. “Don’t sound so satisfied with yourself. You’re grounded, you know.” 

“I thought you said you’d always love me no matter what!” 

“I’m grounding you out of love. No computer, no games, no _invisibility_ for two weeks.” 

“You can’t do that!” 

“Oh, yes he can,” Mithian chimed in. “And don’t press your luck, or it will be a month!” 

Arthur caught her gaze and held it. His heart squeezed at the heavy circles under her eyes. They’d used to be such good friends. 

“Mordred, why don’t we go in the living room and give your parents a chance to talk,” Merlin said. 

“No, they’ll just think up more ways to punish me.” 

“Mordred.” 

“ _Fine._ ” 

A chair screeched across the parquet, and then Arthur was left alone with Mithian. “Thank you for backing me up,” Arthur said. 

“It’s what parents are supposed to do,” she said. “But don’t think I’m happy about this, because I’m not.” 

“I know.” 

“I never thought—he’s so grown up, in just a few months. I can see the difference in him. And you. I—”

“If he wants to stay, let him. Please. It won’t be forever.” 

“Maybe it will be. He’s my baby and I don’t want to lose him.” 

Arthur placed his hand over hers on the table. “You won’t. I promise, you can visit whenever you want, stay as long as you like.” 

“Oh, and I’m sure Geoff would love that.” 

Arthur scoffed. 

“Just give Geoff a chance, Arthur; you don’t need to like him, but he’s a good man. He’s good to me.” 

“I’m glad.” 

“And there’s something else.” She put her hand on her stomach. “I’m pregnant.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened. “How long?” 

“Three months. I was going to tell you but I thought Mordred should hear it in person. I know he feels betrayed by the marriage. I know he doesn’t like Geoff. But I don’t want him to think that I don’t love him or want him.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks in fat drops. Arthur reached for a tissue.

“So you think that by agreeing to leave him here, he’ll think of it as a rejection.”

She nodded and blew her nose. “He’s so sensitive; you see how he is. I would never forgive myself.” 

“Well, we’ll just have to make it clear that we both want him, but that neither of us will be angry no matter what he decides. We can make decisions later, when we’re rested. Do you agree?” 

“All right. Once we’re rested.” 

They rose from the table, only to find Mordred standing in the doorway. From the look on his face it was obvious he’d overheard. 

“You’re having a baby?” he asked. Mithian nodded, still dabbing at her face. 

“I am.”

Mordred seemed to be taking in the information. For a moment he didn’t say anything. 

“Look, Mum, I know you think I hate Geoff, but I don’t. I think he’s a bit of a tosser, but if you’re happy, that’s great. I’ll even tell him I’m sorry about the car.”

“Thank you, darling.” She accepted another tissue. “He really did love that car.” 

“Don’t cry, Mum.” 

She hugged Mordred and then straightened up. “All right. So you heard what your father said. I want you to live with me, and Arthur wants you to live with him, but we’d like to hear your thoughts on what you’d like to do. Neither of us will be offended. Cross my heart.” 

Mordred looked from Arthur back to Mithian. The conflict on his face made Arthur’s stomach plummet. He was going to choose to go back to America, just as Arthur had always feared, and now he’d have to live with the knowledge that he’d lost his son forever. 

“I love you, Mum, but I want to stay here with Dad and Merlin. I like the estate and being here and . . . I want to go to Merlin’s school where there are kids like me.” 

Mithian straightened up in her chair; she quickly hid her hurt expression behind a smile. “Is there a place for you?” 

“We’ll have to enquire,” Arthur said, trying to restrain his giddy relief. “I’ll ring Gaius right away. And we should probably ask Merlin what he thinks.”

“So I see the party’s in here. What do you need to ask me?” Merlin came in and stood close to Arthur. His tired face was beautiful and confused. 

Arthur laughed. “You should probably run while you still can.”


	16. Chapter 16

_Four Months Later_

“Gilli , no. Just no.” Merlin peered into the cauldron where a viscous, blue-green blob was currently trying to claw its way out onto the table. He shuddered.

“I followed the instructions!” 

“How much bone powder did you add?” 

“Five grams.”

“It’s four grams. Four.” 

“Oh bollocks.” 

Merlin patted him on the shoulder and urged him out of the way. By now the entire class had assembled around Gilli ’s rogue wound salve. It wasn’t the first time this year Merlin was regretting taking on the Year Ten potions class. 

“Is it alive?” one of the girls asked. A few people tittered. 

Merlin rolled up his sleeves. “Not alive. Just—temperamental.” 

Once the substance in question had been appropriately dealt with, Merlin decided to end class early. None of the students complained, as it was the last class on the last day before Christmas hols; they chattered as they packed their things and filed out of the room, discussing their plans for the break. Mordred popped his head in the door.

“Hey Merlin.” 

“Hey yourself; aren’t you supposed to be in Magic Arts?” 

“Got out early. What time is Dad coming?” 

“I think he said George would be in the front at six.” Merlin’s stomach fluttered. He hadn’t seen Arthur in almost three weeks, and though he’d maintained it was no bother for them to take the train back to the manor, Arthur had insisted on meeting them himself. 

“Cool,” Mordred said. “I’ll see you there then. I’m gonna go into town with a few of the lads first, get a gift for Kara.” 

“Get one for your father, too.” 

“Next I suppose you’ll be wanting a present.” 

“My present will be you behaving yourself in town. No spells in public, all right? Gaius is still trying to repair the damage from the sixth form prank.” 

“It was pretty cool, though.” 

Merlin fought a smile. “Try telling that to the old woman who nearly had a heart-attack when that gargoyle in the graveyard came to life.” 

“Non-magic people can be so boring. It was Halloween!” 

“ _Mordred._ ” 

“I know, I know. Sorry. I’ll see you at six, Merlin.” 

“All right.” 

Just then, another Year Nine boy trapped Mordred in a headlock from behind. Mordred yelped. 

“Coming then, Mordred?” the boy asked. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your tits in a twist.” 

Merlin laughed at the empty classroom once the boys disappeared. It had taken a few months, but Mordred seemed to have finally settled in and made some friends. His tutors all reported progress both in grades and behaviour. He still had a penchant for disobeying authority, a quality Merlin secretly admired. It was part of who Mordred was. 

The door opened again. 

“Ah, here you are,” Gaius said. “I hoped I’d catch you before you left.” 

“Arthur’s not coming ‘til six.” 

“You’re not going to spend hols with your mum?”

“She’s actually coming to visit.” It had been Arthur’s idea to have a family Christmas, and Merlin had agreed in spite of the fact that it was probably too much, too soon. He’d come to accept that it would always be like that with Arthur. 

Gaius beamed. “So things are going well, then, I take it.” 

Merlin’s cheeks burned. “Yes.” 

“I know you don’t like my meddling, Merlin, but I’m pleased for you both. And young Mordred.” 

“What about you; what are your holiday plans?” 

“Oh, I’ve got to catch up on some work. Oversee school repairs. Get next years’ acceptance list ready for the board of trustees . . .” He couldn’t have been more obviously fishing. 

“No, absolutely not. You should come with us, Gaius. Arthur would be happy to have you and so would I. Mum would love to see you.” 

“I couldn’t impose,” Gaius protested half-heartedly. 

“Nonsense. Imposing is what you do best. And anyway, it isn’t like Arthur doesn’t have the room.” 

“Well, if you don’t think it would be a bother . . .” 

The door swung open again. It was Arthur, his face ruddy from the cold. His dark wool coat was beaded with melted snow and his eyes sparkled. 

“I thought you weren’t coming till later!” Merlin said. He pushed back from where he was leaning against his desk, caught between wanting to fling himself into Arthur’s arms and wanting to maintain decorum in front of Gaius. 

“I got here early.” 

“So I see.” They stood grinning at each other, and Merlin’s first impulse won out. He hugged Arthur as Gaius chuckled. 

“Arthur, I’ve invited another guest, if that’s okay.” 

Arthur nodded and smiled. “Of course, you’re always welcome, Gaius. Where’s Mordred?” 

Merlin gestured towards the door. “He went to town to do a bit of shopping. He’ll be back for six.” 

“Well, it looks like we have some time to kill, then. Whatever shall we do?” 

Merlin flushed, barely even aware of Gaius excusing himself from the room. Once they were alone, Arthur grabbed his shoulders and dragged him close again. “I’ve missed you.” 

Merlin kissed Arthur long and deep. “Did you sign the contract?” he asked when they finally broke apart. 

“I just came from the estate agent’s. And the stable lease.” 

“Are you happy?” 

“Of course I am, you idiot. I don’t know what we were thinking.” 

After the summer, they’d both agreed a move on Arthur’s part was premature, especially given Mordred’s need to adjust to a new school, but after a few months of visiting on the weekends and long-distance calls—that often as not ended in phone sex and frustrated wanking—they’d decided the best thing for all involved was for Arthur to move to Scotland as soon as possible. 

Arthur kissed him again. His burgeoning erection dug into Merlin’s thigh.

“You taste good,” Arthur said. “But it smells horrible in here.” He wrinkled his nose. “What are you teaching these children, Merlin? How to peel paint off walls?”

Merlin stuck out his tongue. “Don’t ask.” 

“So, we have a couple hours. Do you want to go see the new flat?” 

“Does it have a bed?” 

“I had one delivered this morning.” 

“I love the way your mind works.” 

“I am, after all, the most brilliant man you know.”

[ ](http://s1218.photobucket.com/user/AlbyMangroves/media/My%20Artwork/Divider_zpsf9cdc2ad.jpg.html)

The snow had stopped by the time they made it to the flat, located in the middle of Old Town. Holiday shoppers flooded the pavements where George dropped them off and Merlin dodged several puddles and piles of slush as he followed Arthur towards the gorgeous nineteenth century stone building that they’d toured and fallen in love with a few weeks before.

The doorman welcomed them and accepted what—from his surprised stare—was probably an exorbitant tip from Arthur. 

“Merry Christmas to you, Mr Pendragon, Mr Emrys,” he called out as the doors to the lift closed behind them. 

The top floor, where the flat was located, had a breath-taking view of the city, but Merlin could only admire it for a moment before Arthur pulled him away towards the bedroom. Not that it took much urging. 

Arthur was wearing too many clothes for Merlin’s liking, so he magicked him naked before pushing him down onto the promised bed—a behemoth dressed in Pendragon red and gold. 

“A bit ostentatious isn’t it?” Merlin asked. There were so many pillows he felt he might drown. Their bodies slid together against the soft sheets. 

“Merry Christmas,” Arthur said. He kneaded Merlin’s arse, trailing his finger down the crease. Merlin ground down against Arthur to get some friction on his cock. The cool room felt suddenly heated, and Merlin realised he’d performed a subconscious warming spell. He relaxed against Arthur and kissed him again, sweet and slow. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Merlin said as Arthur’s fingers circled his hole. “No teasing.” 

Arthur chuckled. “But I like to tease you.” 

“I want you to fuck me like you mean it.” 

Arthur let out a little growl and pushed a finger into Merlin, sliding it deep. Just the day before he’d fingered himself open and imagined Arthur inside of him. It was nothing compared to the prospect of the real thing. 

“Lube?” Arthur asked. 

It was a spell Merlin knew by heart, and probably one of the most useful in his arsenal. He quickly slicked Arthur’s fingers and rocked back to take another, but before he could, Arthur flipped them around. Now on all fours, Merlin lifted his hips and presented himself, knowing the sight would get him what he wanted sooner. It was Arthur’s favourite position. Arthur slapped his arse playfully and pushed the thick head of his prick inside. Merlin whispered another lubrication spell. 

“Like I mean it, hmm?” Arthur leaned over him. 

“Yes, dammit.” 

“Are you sure you can take it?” 

“I’m going to murder you. Just fuck me.” 

“Always so bossy.” Arthur punctuated his words with the inexorable slide of his cock. 

It was a lot to take with such little prep, but Merlin was ready. He pushed back to get as much of Arthur inside of him as possible, greedy for it. It burned gloriously. But Arthur didn’t give him a moment to rest; as quickly as he’d entered, he withdrew, and then snapped his hips to drive his cock back inside. He set up a rhythm like that, and Merlin moaned and took every punishing thrust. 

“Like this?” Arthur asked. He was trying to maintain control but Merlin could hear the strain in his voice. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” 

Arthur let out a breathless laugh and slapped Merlin’s arse again. His next stroke made Merlin go cross-eyed; Arthur stayed planted like that as Merlin squeezed around him. He knew how impossible it was to move in such a tight grip. 

“Oh you bast—” Arthur groaned. His hips surged forward. 

It was a very good sign when Arthur lost his words. 

Merlin rocked back and encouraged Arthur to thrust again. He closed his eyes and listened to Arthur’s little grunts and moans, the smack of their skin, the creaking of the bed. His own cock hung heavy between his legs but he didn’t touch it. Arthur’s unconscious noises were nearly enough to bring him off as it was. 

“Merlin—where do you—I’m close—”

“Inside of me.” 

Merlin looked back over his shoulder just as Arthur started to come with his mouth open and his eyes shut. He slammed home one last time and shuddered, gripping Merlin’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Merlin squeezed around him again and Arthur let out a sigh that was half-pleasure, half-pain. They collapsed onto the bed in a heap. 

“You didn’t come yet?” Arthur asked Merlin once he’d finally re-opened his eyes. Merlin had been stroking himself languidly to maintain his erection, though that wasn’t really a problem given the hot fuck and the tempting sight of Arthur’s arse.

“I thought I might have a go.”

“Oh you did, did you?” But Arthur was smiling. He rolled onto his side and Merlin slid behind him, taking a moment to enjoy the pleasure of slipping his cock between Arthur’s thighs. They were lightly furred and strong, but there was nothing in the world more perfect than being inside Arthur’s arse.

“Well,” Arthur said. “Get on with it, then.” His voice was sleepy. 

Arthur was far too complacent for Merlin’s liking. It was time to wake him up. It took a lot of willpower to stop the slow grind he had going, but he released his cock and moved down the bed towards his prize. Arthur’s arse was sweet and round. Merlin bit one cheek like an apple. Arthur laughed and batted at him. “That tickles.” 

“How does this feel?” Merlin asked, getting down to business. He performed a cleansing spell and licked down the crack. Arthur’s hole fluttered under his tongue and his own twitched in sympathy. 

Arthur hardly ever let him do this—only in a state of post-coital lethargy could Merlin get him relaxed enough to enjoy himself. It was just one of those things. But today, Arthur was putty in his hands. 

“Nngh,” Arthur said, muffled by his pillow. Merlin traced his hole and then brought slick fingers into play, taking his time to work Arthur open. Soon Arthur had given up all pretence of tiredness. He rocked back against Merlin’s mouth and fingers and grunted in protest when Merlin pulled away. 

“On your back. I want to see you,” Merlin said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, as though he was underwater. Maybe it was the fact he had no blood left in the rest of his body: it was all in his throbbing cock. 

Arthur complied, and Merlin was gratified to see his work hadn’t been in vain. Arthur was half-hard again. 

Arthur’s eyes rolled back in his head as Merlin entered him. The pressure and warmth were almost too brilliant. Merlin had to count back from a hundred to stop himself from coming. He started a slow withdrawal and push, and Arthur moaned and reached for him, offering his mouth. 

Their tongues tangled together as they fucked, and Merlin wondered how long he could possibly drag it out. He wanted Arthur to come again. He wanted to feel Arthur come while he was inside. 

Somewhere in the flat one of their mobiles rang, but Merlin didn’t pull out. He kept kissing Arthur until Arthur was writhing onto him and his cock was fully hard. Their eyes locked. Merlin knew Arthur would never ask. He would never beg. 

Merlin started to move faster even though he was on the brink himself. The only thing that held him off was sheer will and the need for Arthur to come all over them both. 

Arthur’s eyes went wide, surprised—maybe even confused. Merlin wanted to ask him why. He held Arthur’s cock instead and stroked him, feeling every twitch and movement and nerve in Arthur’s body as if it were his own. He wondered if there was a spell to make them feel what each other felt and thought he might want to give that to Arthur for Christmas. He wanted to give Arthur everything. He thought about how afraid he was about the future and how eager he was for it. He thought about how no one else would ever compare. 

Just as Arthur came again, his face flushed and sweaty, just before Merlin himself came, he thought that maybe he’d been wrong before about love. Nothing had ever felt like loving Arthur. 

They lay like that for a while after, limbs tangled but unable to look at each other for the rawness of it. 

“Did your mobile ring?” Arthur finally asked. 

“Oh shite, I forgot. I think it was yours?” Merlin summoned both of their phones. 

“It’s Mordred.” Arthur sat up. “Oh bloody hell, it’s after six.” 

“Oh no, really?” Merlin blinked at his own phone. They’d lost hours. 

Arthur dialled Mordred and apologised, telling him they’d be right over. While he spoke, Merlin performed some final cleansing spells; he laughed when Arthur nearly shot off the bed in surprise. 

He glared at Merlin when he hung up. “I was on the phone! With my son!” 

“Well, you were hardly presentable. I was saving time.” 

“You’re nothing but trouble, Merlin.” 

“Look who’s talking! Get your trousers on, Your Highness.” 

Arthur pulled his jumper over his head. “How does my hair look?” 

“Freshly fucked. How about mine?” 

“Hopeless.” 

“We’re basically the worst role models ever.” Merlin hurried to tie his shoes and grabbed his scarf where it had landed in the corner of the room. When he turned around, Arthur was shrugging into his coat. He looked so thoroughly debauched Merlin didn’t think there was a spell in existence that could erase the expression on his face.

“I’m blaming you for this,” Arthur said. “Let’s go.” 

“But it was your idea.” Merlin took his hand. 

“We’re both idiots.” 

“But that makes us perfect for each other.” 

“Good point, Merlin.” Arthur grinned and kissed him. “Sometimes you do make a good point.” 

Outside it was snowing again as they piled into the car. And if George suspected what they’d been up to all this time, he didn’t let on. 

Mordred was packed and ready back at the boy’s dormitory. He rolled his eyes as the two of them entered in a rush. 

“Took you long enough,” he said. 

Arthur flushed. “Sorry, we were—”

“Chopping wood,” Merlin said. Arthur glared at him. 

“What?” Mordred wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, that’s like a euphemism, isn’t it. Forget it, I don’t wanna know.”

“Probably for the best. You ready?” Arthur gave Mordred a hug and grabbed one of the bags from the floor. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

“That’s all we can ask.” Merlin grabbed another bag. 

The three of them left the room and locked the door. They were the last ones in the dorm. 

“Just don’t chop wood while I’m awake, all right?” Mordred said. “I’m emotionally scarred enough already.” 

“But think of all of the wonderful stories you’ll be able to tell your therapist when you grow up!” Merlin said. 

“You always look on the bright side,” Arthur said, “don’t you, Merlin.”

“It’s part of my charm.” 

“Charm? I think you’re flattering yourself.” 

“You know you like my charms.” 

“Lalalalalalala.” Mordred stuck his gloved fingers in his ears. “I can’t hear you!” 

“Isn’t it great to be back together again?” Merlin linked his arm through Arthur’s. The snow had started to blanket the now quiet campus in white.

Arthur snuck a kiss while Mordred wasn’t looking. “It’s a bit of all right.” 

Merlin knew just what he meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the art, please visit the [art masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/911884) and leave Alby some love!


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